Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline 1)

“Okay.” She walked into the foyer then chuckled nervously. “Did someone steal your woman and shoot your horse or something?”

“Something like that,” he murmured. “We need to talk.” After hesitating a moment, he pointed to the kitchen. “Come sit down.” He hated to ruin the day with this but he didn’t want it hanging over his head. Plus, he’d be terrible company and he wasn’t sure he could pull it together even for Addison. Not until he made things right with Jimmy, and not until he figured out what to do about Marcel.

Addison’s face paled. “Is this a breakup speech?”

“What? No.” He walked to the kitchen, hoping she followed. It wasn’t a breakup from his perspective, but who knew what she’d do when he told her what was on his mind? “Have a seat. Can I get you a water or coffee or anything?” He’d brewed a whole pot earlier and drunk nearly half of it already.

“I’m okay.” She chewed her bottom lip as she sat down on the stool.

That wave of protectiveness rushed him again, making him want to hold her, to shield her from danger and hurt. Maybe even to save her from himself. It made no fucking sense, but not much did today.

“I don’t want to stop seeing you, but you may not feel the same way after I say this,” he said, standing on the other side of the counter. “I know you really want to work on the team, but I’ve changed my mind. You have to stop stealing cars, Addison. It’s not safe.”

For a moment she just stared, as though his words weren’t computing. Then her eyes went from wide to narrow. Wow. She was even hot when she was pissed.

“Fuck you, Fox. That’s not your call.”

“It’s up to me who we do and don’t let into the group.” He sighed. Just as he realized how that had sounded, she bristled. Fuck. Maybe he should have rehearsed this. “Addison, listen . . . You’re a smart girl. You have a promising future. This is dangerous work—”

“Oh my god!” She slammed her hands on the counter. “I should’ve known this would happen. I’ll never be good enough for you, will I? You’ll never think of me as anything more than a stupid little girl looking for a rush. So what—you just kept me around this long because I put out?”

“It’s not like that. I—”

She rose from the stool. “It is! It’s about respect. It’s about control.” Her face was red and her eyes wild. “You’re not even gonna let me try to prove myself. Admit it, you were never going to give me that chance.”

He sighed, debating whether to try to hug her or not. But he had to let her know it was done, and she was out, even if it meant she would hate him. And she would hate the thought of being coddled, no matter how much he wanted to soften the blow. This wasn’t sex or aftercare, this was the job.

“It’s over. No more stalking me, no more bets, no more fun and games. You have to stay out of the business side of my life. Entirely.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she looked like she was trying hard not to cry. Go figure, she was too damn stubborn to cry. He squashed down the urge to gather her in his arms and kiss her pain away, pretty sure that would get him smacked.

“If you can’t respect me enough to work with me, Fox,” she said quietly, “then I don’t see how we can be . . . whatever we are. Saying you’ll let me try then just changing your mind is really low. Without trust and respect, this thing I thought we had going is completely meaningless.”

“It’s not about trust or respect—”

“Yes, it is! Why can’t you just admit it? You don’t trust me.”

He growled, his frustration rising. She wasn’t even letting him explain. “I’m trying to tell you something important, woman.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you wanna keep me saf

e.” She rolled her eyes. “Either you’re way overprotective or it’s just an excuse to keep me out. I’m over it.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

She moved for the door but he followed her.

“Addison!” he said sharply when she reached for the knob. “There’s a reason I’m doing this. There’s some bad shit going down.”

Before he could say more, she slammed the front door behind her. He couldn’t decide whether it was better to give her space or to stop her and try to convince her that he did fucking respect her—that he just didn’t want her to end up like Carlos, in the hospital with a broken leg. Or worse, in the morgue. He wished he knew her better so that he knew exactly what to say. Sometimes Addison could be a loose cannon. It was exciting and addictive, but also made it harder for him to know how to respond.

His dominant urges pushed him to make her stay so he could give her an explanation, but by the time he got over his hesitation and went to the door, her car was a flash of chrome barreling down the driveway.

“Fuck.” A string of profanity followed as he watched her car disappear into the distance, but words weren’t enough. There needed to be better swears to express the kind of frustrated, despondent anger that made his thoughts dark and his hands shake. He turned back to the kitchen, grabbing a vase he hated off the breakfast bar and smashing it against the wall, but the shower of painted glass was unsatisfying. In the end, it was ridiculous and immature, and just another mess he had to clean up.

Chapter 9

Don’t cry, Addison. Don’t cry.