The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

place is enough to make me regret yelling at her. My history with women caused me to act unreasonably and treat Peyton as though she’s Maria or Tori. I took my pent-up anger out on her and I can only hope I didn’t lose her over it. I deserve to, but life was intolerable before Peyton appeared at my door to rescue me. I refuse to revert back to the wretched, soulless prick who felt nothing. I need Peyton to feel, to grow, to challenge me . . . No . . . I want her in my life and in my bed and I want her enough to let go of my anger.

She opens the door and gets out before I can apologize. The door slamming is a clear indicator she may not be interested in speaking to me. I wait in the car, trying not laugh, as she marches up the driveway. In about five seconds, she’s going to be even more irate. Sure enough, her fists clench at her side as she realizes she doesn’t have a new key to the front door.

“JT just pulled in behind us,” Mike says, turning his head to look at me. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No. I’ll wait here for a bit.”

“All right. I’m going to talk to JT. Do you want me to take her the key?”

“Nope.” I grin and he shakes his head.

“Be careful with that one,” he says, opening the door. “She may just rip your balls off.”

I know him well enough that the teasing is okay and I give it back. “Good thing I have your giant ass to protect me.”

With a hearty laugh, he gets out of the car. I relax in the seat, staring with amusement at Peyton and wonder how long her pride will keep her from turning around.

Apparently her pride is downright relentless because ten minutes later, she’s still in front of her door with her back to me. What she doesn’t realize is when it comes to stubborn, she’s met her match. I’m the king of refusing to back down and admit I might have said or done something idiotic. Our argument is no longer about me apologizing. It’s about winning the game. If she wants in her place, she can get her ass over here and ask for the key.

A moment later, she squats down in the grass on the left side of her door. She pushes her fingers into the ground before standing up and walking around the side of the house until she’s out of sight.

Mark and JT are already on her trail before I get out of the car. I might be annoyed, but I’m damn sure not going to allow my stubbornness to lead to her being hurt if this Dellisen character is lurking in her backyard.

As I round the side of the house, Mike and JT are inspecting one of the windows, leading into Peyton’s house. Although her back is to me, I can feel the hurt and frustration rolling off of her as though she’s aiming it right at me.

“What’s up?” I ask whichever one of them wants to answer.

Mike continues on, inspecting the rest of the windows and JT turns to face me. “Someone tried to break in.”

“And it didn’t set the alarm off?”

“It isn’t set yet.”

“What?” I ask, giving him about two seconds to explain himself before I fire both him and Mike. I don’t give a fuck how long they’ve been working for Sid or Gibson, they failed.

“We wanted Peyton to choose the code. That way only she and the alarm company were aware of it. It’s safer.”

Looks like he’ll keep his job. “No, that’s smart.”

“Whoever it was, they weren’t able to get in.”

I know exactly who it was and regardless of whether or not Dellisen succeeded, knowing he tried makes me blistering mad. If I didn’t know he’d be in handcuffs soon, I’d drive to his house and make him feel what it’s is to be violated.

“It was Dellisen,” Mike says, approaching us with a paper in his hand.

As he gets closer, I realize it’s a photograph and I take it from Mike. Robert and Peyton holding hands affectionately, like starry-eyed lovers, garners my attention. I can’t pull my eyes away from the happy couple.

“What? What is it?” Peyton asks, nervously.

What the fuck kind of game is this? Peyton’s lie ran much deeper than she admitted. She knows this man intimately. I let another fucking woman hustle me. Anger simmers inside, ready to erupt as I continue staring at the picture.

The longer I look at it, I begin to notice something strangely off with the position of her body. Her head doesn’t sit correctly on her neck, neither does his. The skin on his face is not as tanned as his body. The picture is obviously photoshopped, not a real moment they spent together. I’m relieved Peyton didn’t lie and ashamed I thought she did.

We’re clearly dealing with a delusional individual, and Peyton can’t stay here until he’s arrested. By the way she looks at me with detest, it won’t be easy to convince her to come home with me.

I hope showing her the photo will make it easier. She takes it from my hand. After only a couple of seconds, she hands it back to me. “You were right. I was wrong. He’s obviously not harmless. Happy?”

“No! I’m not fucking happy.” Her eyes go wide with the rise in my voice. “Look, I don’t know how to do this . . . how to protect you when you clearly don’t need or want me to. I’m sorry I overreacted earlier. I know why you didn’t tell me everything, but I have issues with being lied to.”