Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(56)

“Not yet.”

“She won’t,” I deadpanned, tossing the beer to the trash without even touching it. “Delete her number from your contacts and never talk to her again.”

“What?!” He laughed.

“Did I fucking stutter?” My jaw stiffened, and I kicked a can of fresh paint sideways, ready to march over to him and plant a fist in his face.

“Says who?” His smile evaporated.

“Says me.”

“And you are…?”

“Are you having an amnesia episode? I’m your fucking boss.”

Hale shook his head. “What I mean is, what are you to her? What gives you the right to warn me off? Are you her boyfriend? Brother? Daddy?”

Let the record show that he asked for it.

I rounded the counter toward him, fisted the collar of his shirt, and yanked him so that we were nose-to-nose.

“She’s mine.”

“Does she know that?” He searched my eyes, his expression tranquil.

“Yeah.” Told you I was a liar.

“Guess I’ll have to hear it from her, then.”

I released him, letting his body drop like a stone on the beanbag. “Drop it.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m kicking you out of the business, and your game would be over. No more Mr. Tough Guy, and back to folding shirts at the Gap. Of course, cutting ties with me would mean less pussy and surfing time, but at least you’ll get a fifty percent employee discount and can finally stop wearing these fucking Hawaiian shirts.”

Yes. I went there. I insulted his clothes. I was officially a chick.

Hale narrowed his eyes, the gravity of my threat sinking in. “You can’t do that.”

I grabbed his phone next to him and punched in his code—his ex-girlfriend’s birthday he was too lazy to change—looking for Jesse’s contact as I spoke. “Newsflash: I can do whatever I want. People come and go. It was Edie in your shoes seven years ago. Then she married a millionaire, and I took Robbie on. Then he moved, and I employed Ashford. There’s always a Hale in the background—an errand boy I split my money with to make sure everything’s in check. Don’t be fooled by my generosity. I don’t need you, and the minute I drop you, you’re done here. Stay away from Jesse Carter. I’ll ask again—am. I. Clear?” I threw his phone onto his chest after I was done removing her number from his memory.

His jaw locked, and he got up from the beanbag, zigzagging his way back outside. He was blind with rage. I looked up to see Gidget and Beck standing there, looking less than impressed. I’d always been harsh on Hale, but I never went as far as threatening to fuck him over. But things were beginning to change, and not only because of Jesse.

“Was that really necessary?” Beck crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

I ignored him. “Get your surfboard. Time to kill some waves.”

When I got out, Edie pulled me by the arm to a corner behind her shack-like shop, and I let her, even though I knew she was going to annoy the crap out of me with whatever was going to fall out of her mouth.

“Is this about Jesse?” She was so annoyed, her nostrils were as wide as her eyes.

“Why?”

“Because you act all weird about her. I’ve seen you with her, Bane. I’m not blind. And I’m wondering…” She licked her lips, staring up at me in a way I couldn’t decode. Hopeful? Yeah. She looked kind of hopeful.

“Go on. That’s not technically a fucking sentence,” I grumbled.

“I was wondering if she knew about your job.”

Oh.

Oh.

“She knows,” I said. And she did. She also hated it. That was why Hale had her number in the first place.

“Don’t be dramatic. Everything is under control.” Wasn’t that what people whose lives were a big, hot mess said? I shook my arm away, flashing a confident smile I couldn’t feel, let alone believe. I knew I had no fucking right blocking other guys from dating her when I couldn’t do it myself. Nonetheless, I just couldn’t stop myself.

“Hale should stay away from Jesse if he wants to keep his dick intact. Actually, feel free to pass this message on to the rest of the male population in this town. By the way”—I leaned down, my mouth on her cheek—“you’re showing. Congratulations.”





Later that evening, I stared at myself in my bathroom mirror, trying not to flinch.

I gripped the sink to a point of white knuckles, asking myself if I had it in me to do what I supposed I should have done a long time ago.

To let go of the bad shit.

I looked down. Clutched the scissors next to the faucet.

Looked back up.

You’re not the bastard who raped your mom, Jesse had said to me this week. But Jesse didn’t know all there was to know about me, so really, did her opinion count for shit?

I grabbed the bun on top of my head and cut it, throwing it to the sink and turning on the water with the elastic band still on.

Looked back up. Didn’t flinch.

Proceeded with the rest of my task.

Looked up.

Flinched.





THERE’S AN EVOLUTION TO BIRTHDAYS. The older you got, the less eager you were to celebrate them. In my case, The Incident had aged me a dozen decades. For the past couple years, I’d tried to act like it didn’t exist. Like I didn’t exist. It was easier to pretend nothing was happening, because if life happened, I had to take control of it, and I didn’t have it in me to do it.