“Just because there aren’t any signs down this way doesn’t mean it’s a free-for-all. I’m not running a trailer park. Now move along before I call the cops.” His gruff tone is blunt and cutting.
I stare at him straight for a moment before rolling up the window, turning my keys to start the car and back out while he stands there, trying to look tough with his hands on his hips. It’s not as tough as he thinks it looks. In fact, I think it has the opposite effect.
As I begin back up the hill to the main road, I glance at the clock on my dash as I yawn.
“Oh shit,” I say aloud when I see that it’s already 1:30 a.m. I might as well check work to see if he’s dropped the devices off after a night that he won’t soon forget. Don’t know what type of test run he was taking them on or what it fully entailed, but hopefully, it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Considering that none of the tech he brought would have worked. I grip the steering wheel tighter as I think about it because I hate the idea of being the one to have caused Tito pain.
I’m nearing the building again, and there’s no car out front, which probably means the items are already here, and I can just run in quickly to take them. After I’ve parked, I quickly grab my duffle bag from the back, so I can make it in one trip and run up to the door, letting myself in and rushing to the workroom. As I open the doors, my heart drops to my stomach when I see Tito.
He’s in a rage, working on a device that looks like it’s been thrown from the top of a building. Guilt pangs through me, but fear freezes me right where I am. I would run otherwise and never show my face again, but that’s really not an option.
Seeing him this frustrated gives me the growing impulse just to tell him everything. That the failure was not his doing, and he’s a genius, but my better judgment holds my mouth shut.
He must not notice me yet because, in his anger, he stands with a growl, throwing the device onto the ground. I watch it splinter into a million pieces, and bite my lip, so I won’t gasp out of shock. He’s sweet, usually very gentle. But this side of him, it’s pure rage.
Could agent Riggs have been telling the truth about their family? The ruthlessness of them? The brutality in which they work? I’d rather not stay to find out, so I slowly turn, set on coming back in an hour or two, but just as I begin to move, he turns around.
The redness of his face and the grimace taking over his muscular features sends a chill down my spine, and I feel the blood leave my face. How the hell am I going to explain why I’m here? His face softens a little when he can tell I’m frightened, and it turns more curious.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes trail down to my duffle bag curiously.
“I—” I choke out, sounding like a mouse, and his brows twitch up. I swallow, look down at the duffle bag before him again and blurt out, “I got evicted.”
“What?”
“I got evict—”
“I heard you. I just…” He shakes his head. “When?” Suddenly, nothing else matters to him now, but me. It’s as if this is the most pressing issue, not the possible failure of making his tech dreams a reality. I look at the pieces on the floor and the pile of ones yet to be worked on, laying next to his desk. He’s moving toward me now because I haven’t answered, and I shake my head to clear it.
Obviously, what I told him wasn’t a lie at all. But in conjecture with his question, it’s a stretch. I’m here because the FBI sent me, not because I didn’t have somewhere to stay. I take a deep breath to calm down, so I can think clearer on my feet than I am right now, but as he approaches, nothing new comes to my mind.
“When did you get kicked out?” He repeats when he’s nearly a foot away.
“On Sunday.” I shrug, and his face changes.
“I’m so sorry,” he softly offers, and I nod. After a second of silence, he perks up, and I don’t like what I can sense he is about to offer.
“You should stay with me.”
“Oh, that’s- no. I’m seriously okay….”
“Scout, you were about to stay here for the night. I insist.” He takes a step closer and pushes the door open for me.
“What about your tech? What happened?” I try to gain enough time to come up with something to deter his insistence.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he dismisses, and I furrow my brows back at his as I reluctantly walk through the open door. He follows close behind, and we head to the outdoors. Tito’s car is still not here.
“Where is Van?” I ask, and his jaw tenses.
“He– I drove myself.”
“Oh…”
“Where’s your car?”
“I pulled up around the back.” I don't ask any further questions about this because he seems to be distressed for a moment and I’m already worried about the current situation. My mind has yet to concoct a reason to give him as to why I shouldn’t stay with him.
I can think of a few that I can't mention, one of which is because of my newest side hustle. I feel myself beginning to loathe the choices I've made, and I sharply inhale just as we reach the car. Tito notices my distress and places a hand on my shoulder.