Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(39)

“Whoa.” Presley flinched. “I don’t particularly like the woman, especially since she seems determined to prove that Draven is a murderer. But damn, Dash. That’s cutthroat.”

It was cutthroat. And years ago, it had been my norm. I’d treated women as objects. Usable. Disposable. Replaceable. Presley hadn’t been around during the years when I’d gone through women like water. She’d come along later, when I’d slowed down and done my best to become a decent man. When I hadn’t been as cutthroat.

Presley had started at the garage, brought along her hugs, and she’d softened us.

We’d let her soften us.

“You like her, don’t you?” she asked. “And that’s why you feel like a prick.”

Not a question I was going to answer.

Taking my arm away, I turned to the bench and busied my hands with putting some tools back on the pegs hanging on the wall. “Isaiah said his landlord is jacking up the price of his rent.”

“Yeah.” She went along with my change of topic. “His lease is month to month. I think the landlord realized fast that Isaiah was a good tenant. Add to that the fact that he’s working here and the whole town knows we pay well. The landlord is taking advantage.”

“Take him up to the apartment above the office tomorrow. Let him look around. If he wants to stay there for a while, it’s his.”

“Okay.” Presley nodded. “It’s a mess, but I’ll ask. How much for rent?”

“He cleans it up, he can stay there for free.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrugged. “Guy needs a break.”

Isaiah was an ex-con. Finding an apartment was never going to be easy, something the landlord probably also knew. It wasn’t fair and definitely not something Isaiah deserved. He wasn’t an evil man. I knew what evil men looked like—I had a mirror. Isaiah had gone to prison for a much lesser crime than many I’d committed.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked.

“Nothing much. Jeremiah has to work late so I’m eating dinner by myself. Then I’ll probably watch TV or read until he gets home.”

“Hmm.” My face soured and I ducked my chin to hide it from her. Not well, because she saw my grimace.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“Didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.” Presley scowled. “At some point, you’re all going to have to accept that I’m marrying him.”

“Maybe when he buys you a ring.”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “He’s saving up for it. He doesn’t want to start our marriage in debt because of a diamond.”

“He’s got the money, Pres.”

“How do you know?” she shot back.

“A hunch.”

I wasn’t going to tell her that we’d looked into Jeremiah. Extensively. Presley had come into the office one morning about a year ago and announced they were getting married. They’d been dating for a month at that point and had just moved in together.

But the rush to tie the knot had stopped the minute Jeremiah had earned the title fiancé. He’d started working late. He spent less and less time around Presley. We all saw the writing on the wall. The man was never going to marry her. The promise of a life together was how he kept her on the hook and how he lived off her dime.

None of us thought he was cheating on her, and we’d been watching.

We were worried about her. But any time we spelled it out, expressed our concerns, she’d shut down. She’d get mad. So we’d had a meeting—Dad, Emmett, Leo and I. We’d all agreed to keep our mouths shut until they set a wedding date. Then we’d jump in, because there was no way in hell was she marrying the dumbass. And after he broke her heart, we’d take turns breaking his nose.

I cracked my knuckles. The anticipation of a long overdue fight brought back a familiar feeling I’d locked away when we’d shut down the fights at the clubhouse. Sometimes I really missed the fight. The aggression. The win. To step in the ring and leave it all behind.

“I’ll take you to dinner,” I offered.

“That’s okay. I have leftovers that need to be finished. See you tomorrow.”

With a parting hug, she crossed the garage for the office door. But before she disappeared, I stopped her. “Pres?”

“Yeah?”

“About Bryce.”

She gave me a small smile. “You like her.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. I like her.

And I felt guilty for getting her arrested. I felt guilty for kicking her out of the garage the way I had last night. I’d told myself it was the best thing.

Sure as fuck didn’t feel that way.

Pres waved, giving me a small smile. “Night.”

“Night.”

I stayed in the garage for a while after I heard Presley’s car drive away. There was plenty of work to be done, but the gnawing in my gut kept stealing my focus. Finally, I gave up and left.

I wasn’t sure how, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until I made this right with Bryce. Or at least tried.

My first stop was her house. All the lights were off so I picked the lock to her garage, only to find it empty. Next, I hit up the newspaper. That woman was so damn driven, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d gotten out of jail and gone straight to work to write a story about the experience. But the newspaper’s windows were dark too and the parking lot was empty. I checked the gym. The grocery store. The coffee shop.