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Marco
Iturn off the highway and head down the Bradfords’ driveway. I don’t get far when I roll to a stop. Trent’s white Range Rover is parked sideways across the drive. I could go around and fuck up their lawn, but I’m kind of curious about what shit Trent intends to pull on this fine, cold morning.
I kill my engine and open my door, stepping out and peering at him through the window. He steps out, too, his face still bruised from my fist. Good.
“Did you at least bring me a coffee?” I stuff my hands into my leather jacket as I stride up. “It’s early.”
“I’m taking her to school this morning, so you can turn around and go.” He puts his hands in his pockets, too, but I suspect there’s more in his North Face jacket than just dryer lint. He’s got a knife, maybe even a gun. Can’t be sure just yet. But I know for certain he has a death wish.
“Sorry, champ.” I shake my head. “Evangeline is coming with me.”
“This is my property. You’re trespassing.” He steps toward me. Not close enough for me to drop his ass, but he’s getting there.
“I’m a guest.” I shrug.
“No. You need to leave.”
“Did you run this past your daddy?” I move closer, my breath coming out in a white puff. “Because I’m pretty sure he’d say I’m welcome here anytime I please.”
“I’m not scared of you. Your last name doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“My last name isn’t what’s going to pound you into the fucking ground if you don’t move your car. That would be me.”
His eyes widen a little, but he doesn’t back down.
“Trent.” I look around. “Your boys aren’t here to hold me down. I’d suggest you get in your car and leave.”
“Evangeline’s grandma works for my family. Not yours. If she loses her job, they’d have to move away. They couldn’t afford to send her to Brightwood.”
“Are you making a threat?”
“Just stating a fact.” The sniveling asshat smiles. “But look, I want them to stay right here. Just fifty yards away from me, safe and sound in that apartment over the garage. I especially like the fact that Evangeline’s bedroom window faces the house. Makes for some interesting viewing after she showers.”
And that’s when I snap. Pulling my hands from my pockets, I advance on him. But he pulls a gun from his fleece, the barrel pointed at my face.
I stop. “What the fuck, Trent?”
“I’ve heard about you Davincis. Dad told me. The only language you understand is this--” He shakes the gun. “So here it is. Evangeline is mine. You are no longer welcome here. Leave. I already called the cops. They’ll be here soon. And if you aren’t gone by then, they’ll arrest you for criminal trespassing.”
“Are you sure this is how you want to play it?” I meet his gaze.
“Why are you even asking? I’m the one with the gun, idiot. Get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back.”
“Can’t do that, Trent.” I ease toward him.
“I’ll shoot, asshole. Back the fuck up.” His voice shakes just enough for me to know he’s bullshitting. He doesn’t want to pull that trigger, not really. But if I spook him, he may do it anyway.
“Put the gun down.”
“Fuck you.” He backs up a step.
There’s no way I’m leaving Evangeline here. Not while Trent is cosplaying an Old West sheriff with too few brain cells and too many bullets.
“Leave!” he yells.
I spring forward, grab the gun, and whip it to the side. He pulls the trigger, the gun firing into the woods beside the driveway. Locking my hand around the gun’s action, I keep him from firing again and yank it away. Flipping it in my hand, I bring the butt down on his head, pistol-whipping the dumbass until he drops to his knees. Maybe I should be worried about how easy this is for me, how Trent might’ve had a point when he said Davincis only understand violence. But I’m not. Ice water runs in my veins as I kick him onto his side and stand over him.
“If you pull the trigger, you better make sure you don’t fucking miss.” I land a kick to his ribs, not as hard as I can, but enough to keep him down for a good, long while.
