Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(22)

“Liam.” I shook it briefly, noticing how soft her fingers were.

She was a looker—no doubt about that—and probably right about my age, give or take a year or two. Her clothes said she was desperately trying to look like a Macy’s girl but with a Target budget. She was decently built though a little skinny for my personal tastes. I would have no trouble holding her against a wall and pounding into her for twenty minutes. Nice long legs with defined calf and thigh muscles that would feel nice wrapped around my waist. I could definitely hit that, but I had no interest whatsoever.

None.

Did I turn gay when I wasn’t looking?

Mostly I was wondering how it would feel if Tria ran her hands over my skin the same way. That thought was enticing, and I blinked a couple of times to try to drive it from my mind. That’s when the buzzer from the dryer in front of me went off, startling me slightly.

“That would be me,” I said quietly. I stood and grabbed the last of my trash bags, tossed all the dry clothes into it, and gave the chick one last grin before heading out of the laundromat and back to my apartment. It took freaking forever to fold it all up and put it away, and I was in a foul mood before I was even done.

“Fuck it,” I growled as I dumped the last of the clean laundry into a dresser drawer and just shoved it all inside. I needed to get out and do something physical before I burst.

Wearing a pair of shorts that smelled a whole lot better than they did earlier in the morning, I laced up my running shoes and started my run several hours later than usual. It was after three in the afternoon and already hot enough to bring the sweat out of me before I had gotten through the first half-mile. By the time I got to the tree, I was a lot more winded than usual, but I pushed on.

I still wanted to bring Tria to see the only tree in the general vicinity of our apartment building. I’d mentioned it to her a couple of times during our walks when she talked about missing the greenery—and apparently the cold—of her hometown. I just never saw her during the day and wasn’t going to make that trek in the middle of the night. Though our nighttime routines seemed to match perfectly, we weren’t at all in sync during the day. I hardly ever saw her in sunlight.

I saw her often enough in the privacy of my shower and my imagination, though.

Turning the last corner, I saw the apartments looming in the distance and increased my speed until I hit the sewer grate that marked the completion of my three miles. There was a rusted green pickup parked right out front, and I wondered how something so old could actually still run at all. I slowed to a stop and leaned over with my hands on my knees and breathed heavily for a few seconds, then took a fast-paced walk around the block to cool down.

Returning to the building’s entrance, I yanked open the front door, started down the hall, and was immediately hit with the customary sounds of a couple fighting inside. For a moment, it didn’t register with me—I was still in a post-run haze and wasn’t thinking clearly. The voices belonged to a man and a woman who were obviously in a heated argument in the apartment just below mine, which wasn’t an odd occurrence at all.

Except that couple didn’t live there anymore.

Tria did.

I stopped in front of her door and leaned in, trying to figure out if it was just TV noise, but I could clearly hear Tria’s voice, if not her actual words, coming from the other side. Then a deeper, male voice boomed out in anger.

Already heated from my run, the rage that quickly built up inside of me made me feel as if I were going to burst into flames. I took a deep breath before knocking loudly at the door.

The voices continued, ignoring my banging. If anything, they were getting louder. My chest tightened, and the possibility that someone might have gotten in there and was going to hurt Tria was just far too likely. She was too trusting and had no street sense whatsoever. She’d open the door for anyone.

“Tria!” I screamed as I pounded my fist against the flimsy wood. I was going to give her about four seconds before I broke the f*cking door down. “Tria! Open up now!”

The door fell away as my hand tried to come down on it again. I quickly pulled the punch. If Tria had been any taller I might have hit her in the face.

“Liam, what are you—”

Without a word, I moved across the threshold into the apartment and toward the figure on the other side of the room. As I started to push past, I zeroed in on a big, dark-skinned guy behind her. Before I got too far, I felt her fingers against my chest, trying to push me back.

An explosion of thoughts ricocheted around my head. Tria’s soft, light touch on my sternum was the third time we had ever touched skin-to-skin. It took me off guard, and I had to stop in my tracks to refocus beyond the sensation.

The angry glare of the dude behind her reminded me why I was there.

“What the hell?” I shouted at the guy, pushing my chest firmly against Tria’s hand but not enough to move her out of the way. Tria glanced nervously from me to the figure behind her.

“It’s all right,” she started to say before the bastard on the other side of her interrupted her sentence.

“Who the hell is this, Demmy?”

Demmy? Why the hell would he call her Demmy?

“I’m the guy who’s about to f*ck your shit up, that’s who!” I snarled.

“You can try!” the little shit exclaimed. I would have laughed, but I was too pissed off. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and though he was tall and decently built, he didn’t stand a chance with me. I knew another fighter when I saw one, and this guy wasn’t it. He didn’t look right; he didn’t stand right; and he didn’t move right. He was probably one of those that used his height to his advantage—intimidating others with it to the point where he never had to actually raise a fist.