“Hey! You can’t use my own words against me.”
He lets out a small chuckle. The sound is sexy as hell. Being married to Avery won’t be completely bad. The man is rather attentive in all ways. That is, unless we’re both in prison, which will most definitely happen if he kills my own father even if I can’t stand the man myself. That one is way too close to home.
“There is something else you’re not telling me.”
“What do you mean?” I peek over at him. How does he do that? He reads me too well.
“You were jumpy when I arrived. Did something happen while I was gone?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Can we make a deal?”
“A deal?” He sounds skeptical. As he should be.
“Yes, a deal. I will tell you what happened today and marry you without any more smart mouth words or a fight, but you can’t kill anyone after I tell you what went down.” I sense that shift again in him. The same one I’d felt last night right before he ended Mr. Hoover. “Please. Call it a wedding gift to me.” He’s quiet for a long moment. “What, now you don’t want to marry me? I’m serving myself up on a platter here. Virginity and all.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “We’re getting married today no matter what happened earlier. I will give you what you asked for, but it will only stand for today. Is that clear?” He draws his own line in the sand.
I get it. Today, my father is going to get a pass for what he’s done but not again. With that, I give in and tell him everything about my father showing up and questioning me, not only about Hoover but about who this new man in my life is.
“You thought I would kill him over that? I’ll punish him, sure, but I won’t likely kill him.”
I lick my lips because I still haven't said it all. Avery may be singing that tune now, but I think it’s going to be a whole different one once he sees the marks on my arm.
“He grabbed my arm when I started to leave.” I pull up my sleeve to show him the marks. A deep rumble comes from Avery. “They’re not that bad. I’m sure he didn’t know how hard he grabbed me. I’m like a peach. I bruise easily.”
“No, you don’t. If anything, you’re resilient—or perhaps Hoover hits like the dead little bitch he is.” I reach up and touch my cheek. It has been a bit tender, but there hasn’t been a lasting mark.
“The ice pack must have really helped.”
“That’s the only one he gets, Goldie.” That should freak me out, but oddly I find it endearing. Avery always wants to stand up for me. Even against my father, who is a cop.
“So you’re not going to kill or physically harm him?” I double check.
“I will not physically harm him.” He reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. Why do I get the feeling that Avery is choosing his words very precisely? In fact, I think everything Avery does is with perfect precision.