Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(76)

She sighed unhappily. “He just won’t get a clue. He thinks it’s cute to be persistent, but I’m so over his crap.”

I was pulling back over before she finished the first sentence. I grabbed her phone, ignoring her complaints, and started to read.

I was fuming almost instantly.

Daryl: I miss you. I’m at a party over at Dig’s house. Come see me baby.

This text was followed by an address, which I assumed was Dig’s house.

“What kind of a name is Dig?” I asked Danika, still scrolling through her texts. It was basically a variation of the same thing; I love you, I miss you, come see me. There were several a day, all from him, none sent. From what I could tell, Danika had only responded once, a few weeks ago, and that was to tell him to leave her alone.

“It’s a nickname, though I don’t even know his real name. The guy’s a loser. Even if we were still together, I would never go to a party at Dig’s house. All of his party’s just involve a bunch of skinny white boys smoking pot for days at a time.”

That surprised a laugh out of me, but I came across a message that killed that quickly enough. In fact, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

I showed her the screen of her phone.

Daryl: I miss your sweet pu**y, baby. Come over here. I need to be inside of you again.

“Does he say shit like this to you often?” I bit out.

She cringed, her cheeks flushed. “You tell me. You’re the one reading all of my messages. And don’t get mad at me about what he’s saying. You think I have any control over that? I wish he’d forget I even existed.”

“Well, you’re about to get your wish. This is off Flamingo and Pecos, right?”

She was watching me warily. “Yeah it’s close to there. You aren’t planning to do something crazy, are you?”

I started driving again, the last words I’d read feeling like they were permanently scarred into my brain.

It was the most hypocritical thing in the world, but the thought of Danika having sex with another man, the idea of someone else being inside of her, even in the past, made me crazy.

“Tristan! You aren’t really going there, are you?”

“I am going there. This guy is going to stop harassing you.”

“Tristan!” She sounded genuinely distressed. “You’re going to get yourself arrested!”

“Relax. I won’t. I’m just going to talk to him.”

“You promise? He’s not worth getting arrested over.”

“I promise,” I told her, fully intending just to scare the shit out of the creep, but thinking that it would be totally worth it to get arrested to put the guy who’d been inside of her sweet pu**y in the hospital. “I promise that I’m just planning to talk to him, but I’m going to need you to stay in the car. If he said some shit to you like he put in that text, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“That’s ridiculous! You don’t even know what he looks like. How will you even find him?”

“I’ll ask. Just promise me you’ll stay in the car, and I will take care of this. I just need five minutes in there. Can you do that for me?”

She let out a noisy, frustrated breath. “I can. But you have to swear you aren’t going to do anything crazy.”

“I swear. Again.”

The house was easy enough to find, once we got to the street. It was so crowded, some idiots had even gone so far as to park on the lawn.

“This Dig’s house?” I asked Danika, parking several houses away.

“Yes. Be careful in there. He’ll be surrounded by his friends. If something happens, you’ll be outnumbered.”

“I’ll be careful,” I reassured her, stepping out of the car. What I didn’t tell her was that I hadn’t lost a fight in my life, outnumbered or not. I was twice the size of most guys, and knew how to throw a mean punch.

“Five minutes,” I told her before shutting the door.

I barely noticed how the rain pelted down as I went to the house, that text still bouncing around in my brain, making me crazy.

The house was not as packed as I would’ve thought, considering all of the cars parked out front, but the place reeked of pot.

There was a group of skinny white guys passing around a bong on a sofa in the first room, and that’s where I started.

Lucky for me, there was only one Daryl in the house, and I was directed to the backyard by the group of potheads.

“Thanks,” I called, knowing that just the sight of me had scared the paranoid bastards.

The second I stepped outside, I spotted a Daryl in the small covered patio, sheltered from the rain.

He was a skinny guy, covered in tattoos. He had one side of his head shaved, the other dyed black and styled emo. He had silver flesh tunnels in his ears, and a tattoo of a crow covering most of his neck, and he was wearing f**king skinny jeans. Somehow, I just knew it was him.

He was playing on his phone, and smoking a joint.

My hands curled into fists, and I strode right up to him.

“Daryl,” I addressed him.

He glanced up at the name, reaffirming my suspicions. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone insolent. He had guts, for a tiny little thing.

I didn’t beat around the bush, stepping close, lifting him up by the front of his shirt. I still towered over him. He tried to shake me off, but I barely noticed, letting him get a load of the look on my face. It was really easy to put murder in my eyes. I just had to think about that last text I’d read.