The Hustle (Irreparable #4) (7 page)

I release a quiet laugh, realizing she’s going to be okay, and that like I would do; she’s using humor to ease stress. “Where are you from?” I ask.

“Up north, a tiny town called Shingle Springs . . . a cartel-free kind of town.”

“A boring town?” I joke.

“Yes, although at this point, boring sounds heavenly.”

“I’m sorry, Peyton, but I swear nothing is going to happen to you.”

She gives me the softest of smiles before standing up. “Come on, I want to show you what I’ve done with the loft.”

There hadn’t been an opportunity to tell her how much I love the front room with steal-blues and browns and coordinating abstract paintings . . . not pink.

I take her offered hand and let her lead me down the hall. My wood bedroom floors have been stained with a black finish and the wall behind my bed is black. A leather padded headboard stretches halfway up the wall. It’s a bit dark, but edgy and rough and far from the baby blues Maria had decorated with. It’s a new room for a new me and free from any reminders of my past.

“I love it,” I tell Peyton.

“Good.” She smiles. My hand still rest in hers as we cross the hall to Javier’s old room. The warmth of her skin soothes me and terrifies me. This is a woman I could fall for, another woman who could ruin me. I release her hand as she opens the door. Javier’s old room is decorated as drab as I’d hoped with sage-greens and tans, a plain guest room as I’d requested.

“Acceptable,” I say with a stiff nod.

“Follow me,” she requests, spinning and leaving the room.

I spot something peeking out from under the queen bed. As I bend down to pick it up, I recoil and fall onto my knees. The small wooden train engineer makes my blood boil. I pick it up and throw it against the wall. It ricochets and lands an inch away from me, taunting me with moments I’ll never again have with my son. I swear to god that little fucker does a dance while laughing at me.

“Are you coming?” I faintly hear Peyton through the rage clouding my thoughts.

With a long inhale, I rise to my feet and pick up the toy before slipping it into my pocket.

The glow of pink filters through the crack of my office and I hear Peyton giggling from inside. Her laughter eases my anger as I enter the room. “You think you’re quite funny, don’t you?”

“Little bit.” She nods with a smile so gorgeous I have to fight the urge to bend her over my desk and fuck her until I’m numb.

“I thought I told you this had better be painted over?”

She shrugs. “You did.”

“Yet, it’s still pink.”

“You also said to surprise you . . . Surprise!” She claps her hands in front of her chest with the jubilancy of a teenage girl.

My lip twitches and I can’t hold down the laughter bubbling up in my throat. Peyton’s lack of intimidation when it comes to me is comical and sexy and other emotions I don’t want to feel, but they’re there, tempting me to move beyond my anger and hurt.

“It’s perfect,” I say, putting on a serious face.

“You’re so full of crap.” She laughs, hopping up on my desk. “The painters will be back next week to paint it ecru.”

“Ecru?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “Bleh. Nope . . . I’m keeping it pink.”

“Stop it. What color would you prefer?”

“This one, so every time I come in here, I’ll remember this moment. I haven’t laughed in a long time. Thank you, Peyton.”

She purses her lips, shaking her head as though doubting my sincerity, but I meant every single word. Although it’s possible I may not see her again, I want to remember a woman that made me smile and one I knew wanted nothing from me.

“You’re quite a character, Mr. Hunter.”

“Please, call me Aidan.”

“Okay, Aidan. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m quite positive you can call me Aidan.”

She rolls her eyes, her angelic laugh filling the room and me with a pleasure. “The color,” she clarifies.

“Yes, I know, but I couldn’t resist.”

She leaps off my desk and launches forward right into my arms. Her perky breasts press into my chest. I’m not certain if it’s her heartbeat or mine beating furiously. As I steady her to her feet, there’s a moment when I feel something more for Peyton than I’ve felt for any woman since Maria. Our gazes lock and her cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

“I’m so clumsy,” she says, smoothing her long blonde hair. “I’m sorry.”

I step back, keenly aware of how attracted she is to me and me to her. Any other girl and I’d have her naked by now, but there’s something about Peyton I don’t want to spoil with a quick tawdry fuck and send-off. I want to shield her from Eduardo, but I also want to protect her from me.

I reach up, cupping her cheek in my hand. For a split second, I visualize feeling her lips against mine. “You should go.”

“You’re right,” she mumbles, her cheeks still the color of red rose petals and just as soft. “But I thought you were sending me home with an escort?”

I lower my hand and frown. “They’re downstairs.”

“Oh.” Her gaze falls to the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared.”

“Would you feel better if I drove you?” She lifts her head and nods. “Get your things.” With a smile of relief she turns and leaves.

I lean against the desk, staring at the ceiling. Why did I offer to drive her? What the hell am I doing? I once believed it was the chase I enjoyed, but it’s women like Peyton that weaken me. Women who I believe need me.

Tori needed me to make her laugh and to ease her sorrow whenever her disease consumed her. Maria needed me to protect her from Eduardo, to help her make a better life for Javier. The truth, though, was that neither of them truly needed me. I needed them to appease some deeply rooted psychological problem. They both used me and fucked me over in the end. Yet, here I am considering taking Peyton out on a date. I’ve opened up just a smidge and she’s nudging her way inside.

It’s my mother’s fault. She never needed anyone and could handle her own issues. I guess I want a woman who is everything opposite of that bitch.

My hand falls on the toy as I reach in my pocket for my keys. I pull it out and stare at the goofy expression on the engineer’s face before tossing the last reminder of Javier in the trash.

Peyton’s waiting at the front door for me, her expression still worried. As she steps into the hallway, I grab the box off the table from Eduardo. I frown at her as I enter the hall and lock my door. The mood between us is stoic as we ride the elevator down and I can’t decide when it changed, or if it was me that changed it.

When we reach her car, I take a moment to fill Mike and JT in on what happened with Eduardo’s men and what I expect. They’ve been with Sid for many years and I’m confident they’ll look after Peyton until this situation is resolved, but I can’t help feeling like it should be me taking care of her. I give the box Eduardo sent over to Mike to dispose of.

“I need your keys,” I call over to Peyton. She digs around in her purse and then throws them at me. JT takes the keys to follow us in Peyton’s car to her house.

I open the passenger door to my Porsche and wait until Peyton is inside to close it. As I sit in the driver’s seat, Peyton asks, “What’s he going to do with it?”

“What?” I ask at the same time I understand she’s asking about the box with Eduardo’s warning. “Oh, he’ll dispose of it.”

“
Dispose
if it? How? 1–800 Got Old Body Parts?”

I laugh, loving that she’s choosing to find humor in the situation. “I didn’t ask and I prefer not to know.”

“Okay.”

The entire ride to her place, the voice in my head screams at me to pull over and let Mike and JT take her home. Every minute with her is a mistake. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to get to know her, which means giving her an opportunity to sneak into my life. And then what? My history with women is proof I should keep Peyton at a distance.

As I drive, the only words spoken by Peyton are directions to her place. I should offer her some sort of reassurance that she’s safe, but like the asshole I so often am, I hold back and stare out the window. Talking leads to feeling and feeling leads to me getting fucked. I’m not certain how far we’ve driven until she instructs me to pull over in front of a two story four-plex in Logan Heights.

I glace around, noticing bars on the windows of most the homes, although the neighborhood is typically suburban and the surroundings are clean. “You live here?”

“Well, I know it’s not a swank loft downtown, but it’s comfy and affordable and I have great neighbors.”

She gets out of the car and I send a text to Sid, telling him I want an alarm and new locks installed on Peyton’s place. When I get out, I see Peyton staring at her front door, but it’s her trembling hands that peak my worry. Without hesitating, I run up the small path, splitting the lawn.

“What’s wrong?”

“The door’s open,” she says, her voice laced with apprehension. “I locked it before I left this morning. I always do.”

Mike and JT appear behind me with guns drawn.

“Wait here,” JT instructs, pushing the door open. He and Mike enter Peyton’s house and I glance down into her beautiful blue eyes filled to the brim with fear.

“They know where I live?”

Her solemn question comes with a hint of her begging me to fix this and I will.

“They might, but you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She lets me pull her close. As I hold her in my arms, Eduardo’s men breaking into her place doesn’t settle. They knew she was at the loft with me, and they already sent the warning. Something feels off.

Mike and JT come outside, informing us it’s safe to go inside. Peyton bursts into tears when she goes through the front door. Her entire place is turned upside down. The contents of her drawers spread the floor and furniture is flipped over. Broken glass and porcelain cover the kitchen floor. I stay behind her, listening to her quietly sob as she moves from room to room.

As I follow her down the hall, she spins around on me, stopping me in my tracks. Anger flashes in her eyes as she thrusts her fists into my chest.

“You did this,” she yells. “I wish I never met you.”

Arguing would be futile at this point. While I may believe this wasn’t Montez, Peyton doesn’t. But I agree with wishing she’d never met me. I don’t try to stop her when she storms down the hall, into a room and slams the door shut. She should be angry with me. I’m angry.

I want to go talk to her, but there’s nothing I can say. I fucked up. As I trudge through the dense grass in her front yard, I look at the men across the street sprawled out on the front steps of a small apartment building. They watch me as I round the front of my car.

“You lost?” One of them shouts.

I freeze, considering crossing the street to engage the men with some antagonizing comment, but then I hear Peyton. My gaze rises to her running toward me. “Wait! I can’t stay here.” She stops in front of me with tears raining down her cheeks. I want to pull her into my arms and console her, but that’s a line I have no business crossing, although I will eventually. I always do.

“I understand. I’ll take you to a hotel.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, pointing to her front door. “I need a minute to pack a few things.”

As I settle into my car, the voice in my head warning me to be done with Peyton grows louder, but I choose to ignore it. I’m responsible for the horrendous turn of events in her life. I can’t abandon her because I’m afraid of how I might feel. Fuck that my history of comforting women always turns out badly for me. This time, I’m the reason Peyton needs consoling.

Mike follows us in Peyton’s car. JT stays behind to meet a cleanup crew I hired and make certain Peyton’s place is secure. As I drive, I stare at Peyton from the corner of my eye and absorb every ounce of guilt over putting her in danger.

Then it hits me that Eduardo’s men could go after Brady, Tori, Drew, or Little A. My sister. I thought I had nothing to lose by confronting him, but I do. I have people in my life I care about. Knowing I have a weakness should make me abandon my plans, but it’s because of my family that I can’t. The only way to keep them safe is to put an end to Eduardo Montez. Until he’s no longer breathing, no one I care about is safe.