Nitro's Torment (Sydney Storm MC 2)

He finished searching the bedrooms and turned to face me. Frowning, he replied, “Yes, fifteen years.”

“Why don’t you have any furniture if you’ve lived here that long?”

Staring at me like I’d asked the world’s most redundant question, he said, “I gave it to my sister when she and Renee moved out.”

“They’ve just moved out?”

“No, they got their own place a few years ago.” He continued his search of the house while I followed blindly behind him, unable to let go of my need to understand him.

“And you still haven’t replaced the furniture?”

He stopped abruptly and gave me his attention again. “Why the twenty questions, Vegas?”

I held his gaze. “I’m trying to figure out why you don’t have any furniture.”

“No, you’re trying to figure out me. You’re a lawyer, it’s what you do. But I’m telling you now, there’s nothing to figure out. I’m a man who has no interest in furniture or decorating or any of that bullshit, so quit with all the questions.”

I stepped closer, leaving very little space between us. “I don’t believe that, Nitro.”

“Believe what?”

“That there’s nothing to figure out. I think there’s a lot you keep hidden.”

His nostrils flared and when he spoke again, his voice held a dangerous tone. “Last night you wanted nothing to do with me. I’m not sure what the fuck happened between then and now, but let’s go back to the way we were.”

My lips spread out in a grim smile. “That’s the thing about life… We can’t often go back to the way things were.”

“Yeah, well, we can, and we will.” His words fell out in a harsh directive before he pushed past me and stalked to the front door. When he reached it, he called out, “Wait here while I go check for Dustin at Marilyn’s house. Lock the door after I leave.” With that, he left, the front door banging after him.

I strode to the door and locked it.

God, he could be a prick. A moody, stubborn prick who I would avoid if I knew what was good for me.

It seemed I never quite learnt my lessons very well in life.

* * *

He’d been gone for about ten minutes when two men snuck into his front yard, balaclavas in place, and guns in their hands. I’d been keeping watch from the front window of his lounge room when they appeared.

They were almost to his front door when one of their phones rang. The guy with the phone paused to answer it while the other one waited behind him. A short conversation ensued before the guy with the phone slipped it back into his pocket and said something to his mate. They then continued their trek towards the front door.

My fingers curled around the gun I’d found stashed in Nitro’s cupboard when I searched it just after he left me alone. I hadn’t been able to resist snooping, but had been disappointed when all I’d found was the gun. As well as owning very little furniture, he didn’t keep many personal belongings.

I watched as Nitro entered the yard, picked up his pace and advanced on the two guys fast. A few moments later, he punched the guy at the back in the head, causing him to stumble forward. With the element of surprise, he managed to wrap his arm around his neck and knock the gun out of his hand.

The guy struggled, trying to shift Nitro’s arms. As he fought, his friend turned around to help him, but Nitro pointed his gun in his direction. “Stay where you are or you’ll stop breathing,” he barked.

The guy ignored Nitro’s threat and immediately lunged at him. Nitro fired, but the guy had ducked low enough when he’d lunged to avoid the bullet. When he landed, it was with enough force to knock all three of them to the ground. A fight then broke out, and I feared that Nitro was at a disadvantage being on his own against two.

Exiting the house, I made my way to where they fought. Nitro’s eyes briefly met mine as he knocked one guy flat on his back before turning to deal with the other guy who was right behind him. I didn’t miss the scowl in his glance, but chose to ignore it. Pointing the gun I held at the guy Nitro had just knocked down, I said, “Don’t move, asshole.”

He stared up at me, his eyes holding a clear challenge. “Or what, blondie?” As he said the words, he moved to stand.

Without hesitating, I shifted the gun so it aimed at his leg, and I pulled the trigger. “Or I’ll fucking shoot.”

“Motherfucking bitch!” he roared, his agony spilling out all over the place.

The gunshot slowed him, but it didn’t stop him completely. Figuring from the way he moved that I must have only grazed him with the bullet, I took aim again. That time, the bullet did what I wanted it to—it slowed him right down, planting him on the ground, clutching at his bullet wound. A string of expletives and threats spewed from his mouth, but my attention had already shifted to Nitro.