Junkyard Dog(26)

“You have a house,” I say, lighting a cigar. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

One of his tubby coworkers rounds a counter, sees me lighting up and is ready to tell me to put out the cigar. Then the moron realizes who I am and his mouth clamps shut.

“Your wife and kids are sleeping in that house tonight. I don’t give a shit where you sleep, but they’ll back in that house this evening. Do we understand each other?”

“Did Honey talk to you?”

Exhaling smoke in his face, I shrug out my shoulders. “Are you looking to make trouble for me like you do your woman, Andy?”

“No. I just…”

I cock an eyebrow. “I have a direct line into your household. You do something wrong, and I’ll know about it. You keep that in mind next time you overcompensate for your small dick. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” he mutters.

“Just between us men, your wife would make out fine as a widow. You keep that in mind. I know I will.”

Exhaling smoke in his face again, I pat him hard on the shoulder. He grimaces, fighting the urge to cower. Men like Andrew aren’t fighters. They don’t like pain. I see the fear in his eyes. A little part of me f*cking hopes he smacks Honey tonight so I can smack him. Letting him live makes me look like a f*cking *, but I know Candy wants her sister to make the big play.

I spot Andrew’s car on my way to my truck. For the hell of it, I pull out a blade and cut one of his tires. I’d rather cut him, but I’m apparently taking orders from my assistant these days. Something has clearly gone wrong in our f*cking relationship.

When I return to the office a few hours later, I find Candy’s children playing soccer in the parking lot. They stop and look at me when I arrive and then return to kicking the ball back and forth.

I consider ignoring them but decide to give a shit about their frowning faces.

“Problem with life?” I ask.

Cricket frowns bitchy at me. “Yeah.”

“Who’s messing with you?”

“At our old school,” she blurts out as if she’s been waiting for someone to ask, “they let me and Chip be in the same class. In our new school, they say because we’re twins we should be separate. They want us to make friends with other people, but other people suck. I want to be with Chip. He gets me.”

Chipper begins nodding as soon as his sister speaks. They stare at me with dark, cranky eyes. I tell myself these kids mean nothing to me. It’s a lie, though. They belong to my assistant and future f*ck partner. So like with Honey, the twins’ happiness is part of the package.

Besides, Cricket’s disdain for people is admirable. I agree with her hatred for school f*cks and their well-meaning bullshit.

“Which of you has the better teacher?” I ask.

Chipper isn’t sure about talking to me, but he’s pissed about the teacher situation. “Mine. Mrs. Dover.”

“I’ll make a call. With that out of the way, are you two aware soccer is a Communist sport?”

The twins look at each other, and then Chipper picks up the ball and walks inside with his sister close behind. I follow them and find Candy sitting at her desk, reading paperwork.

“Mom, is soccer a Communist sport?” the boy asks.

Shaking her head, Candy doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Yes, it is,” I tell her. “It’s popular in Communist nations.”

“Baseball is popular in Cuba. In fact, the only truly American sports are football and basketball. Nothing else should be trusted.”

I can’t tell if she’s making fun of me. The kids glance between us before focusing on their ball.

“Should we play soccer?” Cricket asks. “And what’s Communist mean?”

Candy looks at her daughter and gives her a wonderful smile. “Kicking a soccer ball is good practice for kicking people in the balls when you’re older. As for the definition of Communist, grab my phone and google it.”

The kids take her cell and hurry to a table. I appreciate their enthusiasm. Like them, I was a curious kid growing up. Unlike the twins, I did my shit alone. A team sounds smarter, but people are morons, and I trust no one.

“Any calls?” I ask Candy.

“Three but I didn’t take messages.”

“Why not?”

“They were all whiny shits being whiny. I told them to fix the problems themselves and call back when they had something positive to say.”

“Good.”

Candy’s never sexier than when she focuses her bitchiness on morons.

“Can I see you in my office?” I ask.

Candy shakes her head, but she’s f*cking with me. I walk to the back, and she follows. I hear the twins babbling about the definition of Communist.

Candy shuts the door behind her “They get off early on Wednesdays but didn’t want to go home and see their cousins.”

“Don’t’ care,” I say, wrapping her against me and kissing her hard.

Somehow, her body fits perfectly with mine. I hate how well we work together. She’s the kind of woman I could care about, and I’m not in the mood to care about anyone. Being nice to Moot, Nightmare, and my dad already takes too much good will.

Candy smiles up at me when my lips leave hers. “You kiss good enough to last me hours.”