She nods once, tightly.
“They’re gone,” she whispers.
And just like that, the front door of the house slams hard enough to shake the walls.
Demon Blondie sticks her pink tongue out at me. “There. Happy now?”
“Nope.” I squeeze her scrawny neck tighter, just enough to watch her face go red, her breaths wheezing a little. “How’s that feel? Hurt as much as the knife you were jabbing at my girl?”
“Fuck. You,” she spits.
“No, thanks. Never been interested in real trash,” I throw back, finally relaxing my grasp. “Now. I’m gonna let you up. Unlike you, I don’t hurt people unless it’s absolutely necessary. So we’re making a deal, you and me.”
I ease off her windpipe so she can speak.
“Oh, please.” She scoffs—but she’s giving herself away. Even if we’re in a deadlocked staring contest, her irises keep jittering to the side.
Searching for that knife, I realize.
Must have sentimental value, or maybe she’s just fantasizing about grabbing it and sticking it between my ribs.
“What kind of leverage could you possibly have?” she asks.
“Your life,” I point out softly. “I don’t know who the hell you are, and I don’t care, but I have a feeling you’ve been terrorizing Felicity for a while. It ends now. I want you to get up, walk your ass out of here, and be glad you’re getting out alive. You keep on walking, leave Heart’s Edge, and never come back. I’ve got a few people on the way here who won’t be very happy to see you. They’re sick as fuck of bad luck visiting this town and they won’t take kindly to you bringing more.”
I’m bluffing.
She doesn’t need to know that.
“I’ve got Langley on the line,” Fliss calls, her voice shaking but her jaw firm, her eyes glinting and wet with her phone pressed to her ear. “Do you want the cops taking you in and fingerprinting you, Paye?”
That girl—Paye, I guess—tilts her head back to glare at Felicity upside down, baring her teeth like some nasty rodent before turning a pouty, mutinous glare on me.
Even pinned down, she folds her arms over her chest, her frilly dress puffing a little as she kicks her feet sulkily.
Damn if it isn’t like dealing with a three-year-old with murderous intentions.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Whatever. Just get off me, you ogre. You stink.”
I raise both brows slowly.
My kid doles out better insults.
Whatever.
I let it go and lift my hand away gradually, watching her for any sudden moves.
She sits up, primly fixing her hair and adjusting the front of her dress, before standing with her chin held high, haughty and contemptuous.
She sweeps us with a look, and then her gaze drops to the floor.
That switchblade.
She’s after it before even a split second passes—but I’m faster.
Lunging to my feet, I catch her by the arms from behind and lift her right off the ground, her legs kicking in the air.
“Finders, keepers. Play nice,” I grind out, holding fast to my wriggling, squirming burden as I move to the door. “Fliss, get that knife before she gets any cute ideas.”
“Don’t you dare!” Paye cries, her voice rising shrill and then breaking. “Don’t you dare get your filthy fingers all over it!”
With the phone still pressed to her ear, Felicity darts over and snatches up the switchblade, then flicks it closed and pockets it before staring at me with a million questions in her eyes.
I march that little blond murder cat right up to the front door, which Felicity pulls open for me.
Outside.
Down the steps, with Paye squalling fit to raise the dead the entire time.
I think if I even let one pinky loose, this pint-sized freak might turn around and kill me with the sheer force of her hatred.
This might be comical if she wasn’t so creepy.
Call it reflex and instinct again.
Sometimes you can tell when something’s off, and there’s so much wrong with this one.
At least her goons had a little tactical sense. They’re waiting on the sidewalk with a black car that wasn’t there when I pulled up, and I recognize the same SUV that went tearing out of the parking lot of The Nest that night I found Fliss crying after her ’contractor dispute.’
That answers a few questions.
It also raises a hell of a lot more.
With Fliss trailing behind me, I shove Paye toward the end of the walk, and then push her at her goons.
“Take her,” I say curtly. “And don’t get any ideas. The cops are listening right now and already on the way. And just in case...” I read off the license plate I can just make out past one guy’s body before folding my arms over my chest. “He’s heard it now. So you could shoot us and run and hope they don’t find you. But they will. If you don’t know what town you’re in and what it’s been through, I suggest you do some reading. This is so not the place to dick around with gunfights, boys.”