Into The Light (Three Rivers #1)

Chapter 13

Thirteen

BEAR

I wake up alone in Noelle's bed to the scent of frying meat.

A small digital alarm clock on her bedside reads 7:55 pm. I remember it reading just before seven when I dozed off. I stretch, yawning.

God, I'm still shaken to my core by the wild, wonderful, unexpected experience with Noelle. Simply having the privilege of getting to strip her lush, sexy body naked, piece by piece, was overwhelming and amazing. But then to be able to touch her? To have those huge, luscious tits in my hands? To kiss them? And her ass. Her pussy. Everything about her is fucking perfect. And she allowed me to touch her. She let me make her feel good. Let me give her an orgasm. I followed instinct, listened to the sounds she made and the way her body responded, and just tried to give her everything I possibly could. I feel like I succeeded—according to her, anyway, I certainly did.

But good god in heaven—being touched by her? Her small soft hands wrapped around my cock? Her mouth? I never in a million years would have expected that.

I'm lost in thought when she comes into the room. I sit up, raking her with my eyes. She's wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. It doesn't quite cover her butt, so the lower curves play peekaboo as she walks. Her tits sway behind the cotton with every step, and her long thick legs are bare and smooth.

“Hey you," she says, carrying a tray to the bed. Her gaze takes me in—the blanket shifted off me as I slept, rucked around my thighs. I tend to run hot when I sleep, so I often end up uncovered. "You're smiling."

"I am?"

She giggles, nodding. "Yep. Big ol' grin. Never seen you smile like that."

She sets the tray on the bed, revealing two plates, each bearing a huge pork chop, a pile of rice, and broccoli sprinkled liberally with seasoning and parmesan cheese; also on the tray is a bottle of wine, an opener, and two goblets, as well as silverware and strips of paper towel for napkins.

"What's got you grinning for the first time in your life?" She asks, her voice light and right, happy, teasing.

“You." I jut my chin at the tray. "What's all this?"

She shrugs. "Dinner." She crawls onto the bed on all fours, snuggling in beside me, sitting up. "I, um…worked up an appetite, if you know what I mean." Her cheeks flush, her grin widening.

"Why do you think I'm smiling?" I say, reaching for the tray and pulling it close. "But…I woulda helped."

She cups my jaw. "I wanted to do this for you. Bring you dinner in bed. You make me so happy, Bear. And when I’m happy, I like doing things for the people I care about. I enjoy cooking." She hands me the bottle and opener. "Can you open this, please?"

"Sure."

Never opened a bottle of wine before, but I've seen it done on TV in the dayroom, where a TV was always playing something. I figure it out easily enough, and the cork comes free with a pop; I pour some of the ruby red liquid into each goblet.

She takes one and clinks it against the one in my hand. "To us," she says. "And our future together."

"To us," I echo, but my mind is stuck on the second part of her toast.

Our future together.

I like the sound of that.

"What's that future look like?" I ask. It's not a question I would have even thought to myself just two or three months ago.

She slices a piece of meat instead of answering right away, but I can see her thinking as she chews. "I don't know. I guess that's what I'm excited about—figuring that out with you."

I try the porkchop: it's incredible, unsurprisingly. Juicy, tender, well-seasoned. I force myself to eat slowly, savoring each bite.

"What about you?" she asks. "You have any ideas about the future?"

I shrug. "Dunno. Haven't given a lot of thought to it."

"You should." She dabs her lips with the napkin, scoops rice, and then nibbles a piece of broccoli. "You have a future, now, Bear. A bright one. What do you want it to look like?"

"Today." The answer pops out unbidden. My cheeks burn. "Not just…sex. Everything. Being with you. This—eating together."

She smirks at me. "But also the sex."

I nod, letting my smile answer hers. "Definitely that."

"And a lot of that, hopefully." She spends a while eating, and then looks at me again, setting her fork down. "Is it okay if we…um…keep taking it slow? Sex, I mean. I want our relationship to be…strong. Based on the right things."

"Absolutely," I say.

She rushes to speak. "The only reason I say that is because I feel sort of…I don’t know. Crazy. About you. I just…I don’t want to get caught up in the physical and lose sight of our emotional and mental connection. Maybe I’m overthinking it."

I take her hand. "No. Slow is good, Noelle. There's a lot of transitions in my life. Freedom. Work. And now you—us. It's a lot. It's all good—great. But I…" I trail off. "I guess I sorta want to…savor each step with you. Like today. What we did together. I want to savor the memory, the feeling.” I sigh. “I want you. Need you. But I don’t want to rush. And I’m glad we waited. Got to know each other more."

"You understand me," she says, her eyes misting.

"Hey, don't cry," I say. "Can't handle you crying."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Not all tears are bad. I'm just emotional, I guess. But I’m happy. So freaking happy. And that makes me a little weepy, but it's a good thing."

"Oh." I brush at her eyes. "Then, I guess just let it out?"

She sniffles a laugh, nodding. "You make it safe for me to show you my emotions. All of them." She sighs, wincing. "I haven't always felt that way. Or ever, really. I mean, with my friends, yeah. But with…before—with my ex. I've decided not to even think of his name anymore, by the way. I always felt like…like my feelings were too big. Too much. He couldn’t handle everything I was. I wanted sex too much, wanted to know what he was feeling too much, and tried too hard to love him. The harder I tried and the more of myself I gave to him, the more he seemed to just…I dunno. Pull away. I’ve never gotten it. But it hurt. It made me feel—I don’t know. Poopy about myself. Like I’m just too much. Like no one will ever be able to accept me for everything I am. I always have to hold back."

"Maybe it's selfish, but I want all of you," I say. "I guess because I know exactly how you feel. I've always been…a lot. A social worker, when I was ten or eleven, before my last placement, she told me what she knew about my origin."

Noelle sets her plate aside and turns to focus on me. "Will you tell me? Please? I want to know everything about you.”

“Wasn’t much. I guess my parents were very young immigrants from Iceland. Came over when they were nineteen. My mom was already pregnant with me when they got here. Dad had trouble finding work. Had a job lined up, but it fell through, and he didn’t know much English. Things got hard for them. Eventually, he got a job in a factory, but he was killed in an accident about a week before I was born. Apparently, according to the social worker, I was so big at full term that she had to have an emergency C-section. She almost died in the process—some sort of complication, I dunno. She never recovered. Not all the way. Kept getting sick. Couldn’t take care of me. So, she gave me up for adoption when I was only a few months old. Turned me over to the state."

"God, Bear. That's so hard. I’m so sorry."

I shrug. "All I remember from my early childhood is this tiny house with an overgrown backyard. Lotta other kids. And then having to leave. A new family, a new house. Had to carry all my stuff from house to house in this black garbage bag that had my name written on a piece of duct tape. I got made fun of a lot. Being so big, plus my name. I mean, Bear was bad enough, but Bear Olafsson? With red hair?" I shake my head. "Kids were cruel."

Her eyes go misty again, and she snuggles closer to me, trying to get her arm around my chest. Eventually, she gives up and straddles me, naked bottom and sex sliding over me, and she presses herself against me, arms around my middle, cheek on my chest—a full-body hug.

"Keep talking," she says. "Don't mind me."

I set my empty plate aside near hers and scratch her back in lazy circles as I tell her the story I've never fully told anyone.

"Got in a lot of fights in school. I was angry. Alone. Confused. A lotta fosters were abusive." I find the scars on my right shoulder and bicep, little round burn marks in a neat line down my arm. "One foster father did this. Put his cigarettes out on me. If I made a sound, cried out, flinched, anything, he'd kick the shit outta me. So I learned to keep quiet, no matter what." She shudders, sniffling. "I'm okay. I'm okay. It's old."

"Not to me," she whispers.

"That was how it went. My last foster was the worst. The mother tried to…do things to me. I was already pretty big and strong, even at eleven. I fought her off and ran away. Got picked up by some gangbangers. They took me in and took care of me. Had to do some bad shit, but at least I sort of belonged. I just…I never felt like I could be me. In the gang, I had to be…bad. Scary. Hurt people. Not who I am but how I had to be. And then, in prison, it was all different. Same, but different. At first, I thought I had to be the tough guy. But I learned eventually that if I made friends with people and kept to myself and stayed out of trouble, it was better. I didn’t have to be the tough, hard-ass, violent guy."

Noelle sighs. "I'm glad you learned that. I can't picture you being violent."

"Glad you can't. Hope you never see it." I swallow hard. "Only reason I'd ever be that guy again is if I have to protect you. And if I do, I'll stop at nothing to keep you safe."

She nods against my chest. "Good thing my life is safe and boring, then, huh?"

I laugh. "Safe and boring is good." I can't help but cradle her ass in my hands. "Nothing about you is boring, though. Hope you know that."

She sits upright, her breasts swaying behind the shirt, hair loose and wild around her shoulders, a cloud of red like the setting sun. Freckles dot her neck, chest, thighs, and cheeks. I trace them and connect the dots with my fingertip, wishing her shirt was off so I could connect those dots across the rest of her beautiful body.

"Thank you for sharing that with me,” she murmurs.

“You too. About…him. How you feel." I hold her eyes. "Want you to know that you can…be you. totally. Don't ever hold back. I know you I don’t wanna hear me say this, but I gotta, once more. I don’t always feel like I deserve the woman that you are, but since you seem to have chosen me for reasons I’ll never understand, all I can do is promise you that I can handle everything you are. All your biggest feelings, your fears, your needs. Gimme all you got, Noelle. God made me big, made me strong. Guess if I believe in that God, then I believe he made me this way for a reason. For you."

Misty eyes flicking side to side, searching me, she swallows hard, sniffling. "God, Bear—there you go again, making me cry with how darned sweet you are." She wipes at her face with both hands, shuddering a sigh. "You can't know what it means to hear that and know it's true."

"I can imagine," I say. "Feel the same."

"It is. It is the same." She takes my hands, kisses each of my palms, and then presses them to her face. “I’m not big and strong like you. But I have a lot of love to give. I want all of you, too. All of you. I don’t want you to hold back, either. You’re not too much for me. You’re not too big.” She tangles our fingers together. "You won't break me. You won't hurt me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now that that's settled." She rolls to her stomach on the bed and reaches across me, shirt riding up to expose that luscious ass which I can’t help but play with, earning me a little giggle, she opens a drawer in her bedside table and produces an iPad connected to a charger; she unplugs it, opens it, finds a streaming service app, taps it, and hands it to me. "I'm gonna make popcorn. You pick a movie."

"What do you like?" I ask.

"Not telling. I wanna know what you like."

"I don't know."

She laughs, pausing in the doorway. “Exactly the point! Pick something that interests you."

We stay up way too late, sipping wine—not my favorite, but she likes it, so I drink it—and eating popcorn and watching a movie. I pick one called Three Hundred , which she claims to have not seen before. When that’s over, I insist she show me her favorite movie, which turns into a long discussion of which favorite because she has several. She picks The Princess Bride but falls asleep around the time when the giant is fighting the man in black.

This time when we fall asleep together, it's in her bed.

Best sleep of my life.

The weeks that follow are amazing.

We work, meet at the shelter, go on walks, eat dinner—either out or at her house. I spend as many nights with her as I do at my own place.

We make out a lot. On a few memorable occasions, I use my fingers and mouth to make her come, and she does the same for me.

But we're in no rush.

I'm enjoying just being with her. I don't need more.

I want more.

I want to make love with her. I want that full connection. But I sense she's not ready. She needs this interlude period. And, to be honest, so do I.

On a couple of occasions, she brings lunch to the worksite—bags of burgers and fries from a local place, with enough for all the guys on the demo crew.

She, Darius, and I form a friendship—I'm closest with him of all the guys. On one such day, some six or so weeks after that life-changing rainstorm, she brings dinner for the crew—this time, it’s homemade chimichangas, several casserole dishes full of fat little tortillas stuffed with meat, beans, rice, and cheese, topped with more melted cheese, sour cream, and salsa. We're working late, trying to finish the last two houses on the block of the ones Riley and Felix own.

We're sitting in clusters on the curb, eating, laughing, teasing each other. The food is delicious, and it's a warm, beautiful summer night. When the food is gone and everyone is stuffed, Noelle gathers the dishes, paper plates, and silverware, packs it up, and brings it to her car while the guys resume the last of the cleanup.

I'm outside the house I’ve been working on, emptying a wheelbarrow into the dumpster. I've got one eye on Noelle as she plays with Panzer in the yard a few dozen feet away.

I notice someone else watching her, too.

Duane.

And the look on his face is ugly.

Evil.

Jealous.

Later, on the way home, I squeeze Noelle's knee. "You have a run-in with Duane?"

She nods, frowning. "Yeah, once. The first time I met you at the site. Why?"

I shrug, not wanting to worry her. "I don't like him. I don't like how he looks at you."

"Me either. He said some nasty things, but Darius set him straight." She waves a hand. "He’s just lonely, jealous, and insecure. Don't worry about him."

My gut tells me otherwise, but I keep that to myself. I can't exactly beat him up for looking at her. I might have, once upon a time. I'm not that person anymore, though, so the best I can do is keep an eye on him.

Two weeks later, we're at a grocery store not far from her house, shopping for dinner. We're in the produce section, and she’s selecting a bag of apples while scanning the list in her hand.

"Hey, Bear, honey, can you go grab some sour cream? I forgot it when we were over there."

"Sure."

I find the sour cream section easily, but she neglected to mention how many different brands and sizes there are and which she wants, so I pick the biggest tub and head back to where she is.

Only, she's not there anymore.

I roam the aisles one by one, finding her eventually in the far back corner near a rack of sale items and the door to the back. Duane has her cornered.

"You won't even give me the time of day, but him ? Oh, of course . I ain't so bad once you get to know me.” His voice is filmy, wheedling, and evil.

"Duane, please just leave me alone." Her voice is firm, but I hear fear in it.

Rage fills me, and I struggle to contain it. My hands shake, and I know I have to be very careful with what I do next. I prowl up behind Duane, grab him by the back of the neck, and toss him backward. I only use a fraction of my strength, but he’s a skinny little guy, and he goes sprawling half a dozen feet away. I stomp toward him, fighting the urge to rip his head off his shoulders.

He must see the murder in my eyes because he scrabbles backward on his butt. "We—we was just t-t-talking," he stammers. "Didn’t mean nothin' by it."

I grab him by the shirt front and haul him off the ground and onto his feet—he’s airborne for a second. "You don't come within ten feet of her. Ever." I shake him. Once—hard. His teeth rattle. "You don't fucking speak to her. You don't talk about her. You don't even think about her. You do, I'll tear you into little pieces and feed you to the fucking seagulls."

I toss him again, but this time gently enough that he can keep his feet. He staggers backward, pale and shaking. With one last glance at me and Noelle, fearful and small and vicious and ugly, he runs off, tripping over his feet.

I close my eyes once he's gone, and try to find my center, my calm.

I can't breathe. I’m shaking with rage, a red haze obscuring my vision.

She was scared—of him.

That rage fills me all over again, terrifying in its potency. My muscles spasm, wanting to destroy something.

“Bear?" Her voice is small, tiny. She tentatively touches my arm. “Hey. It's okay. I'm fine."

I shake my head. "Don’t—don’t touch me. Not…I’m not safe right now."

She ignores that, circling in front of me and standing on her tiptoes to get close to me, pressing against me with her warmth and softness. "Hey. Hey. Breathe, baby. Breathe with me." She sucks in a long breath, holds it, and lets it out—I follow along, and my heart slows, the rage subsiding. "Look at me, honey. Touch me. Feel me. I'm fine . I'm not hurt. I wasn't even really scared—I knew you'd find me and take care of him. It's okay, now. It’s okay.”

"I wanted to…" I shake my head. I can't put it into words. "I'm sorry you saw that side of me."

She wraps her arms around my neck, nuzzling my throat. "I'm not. You protected me." She strokes my beard, my jaw. "You didn't do anything bad, Bear. You scared him a little. Or a lot. Which he deserved. You controlled yourself. I’m proud of you."

Her words burn through the haze, clearing my mind. "You…you are?"

"Yes!" She pats my chest. "I saw how mad you were. You could’ve really hurt him, but you didn’t.”

I shake my head, staring at the way Duane went. "Don’t like him. Gotta talk to Riley."

"Okay. Maybe he can talk to him about keeping his distance and behaving himself." She grabs the cart and smacks me on the butt. "C'mon, you. Let's go home. Steak and potatoes won't cook themselves."

The following morning, when Noelle drops me off at work, I'm the first one there. Felix arrives next in his big, gold pickup with the bullbar and light rack. He hops down, blond hair shaggy around his collar, a scruffy beard shadowing his jawline, mirrored, wraparound Oakleys on his face. He and Riley look a lot alike, opposite hair color aside—sharp, rugged jawlines, eyes so pale blue they’re almost white, high cheekbones, and lean, athletic builds. Felix is heavier and more densely muscled in contrast to Riley’s hard, shredded build.

Riley, despite being the clean-cut one, is the bad boy, the brother with a reputation as a ladies’ man—to put it nicely—whereas Felix, the shaggy and unkempt one, is the golden boy, the football star in high school, pillar of the Three Rivers community, with his construction company providing luxury housing across the area. Felix’s company, Crowe Construction, in addition to homebuilding, also installs play structures at schools and parks in the area as a charitable donation, as well as maintaining a tiny home community for the local homeless population.

Felix is widely adored by the Three Rivers population, and since he's perpetually single, he's considered the most eligible bachelor in town—all this is according to Noelle and her friends, during Trivia Night gossip sessions.

Riley is the black sheep. The one who went to prison for an offense I've never learned, squandering a full-ride scholarship to a Big Ten university for hockey. He's always got a girlfriend, but they never last long and often end in messy, public blowouts that see him going on a bender and having to be collected by his brother.

Despite all that, his work-release program is a darling in the city, beloved by most residents as an ideal second-chance opportunity, a means of rehabilitation rather than punishment. People see the good it does; the inmates who go through it often stay in Three Rivers and become liked and respected members of the community. Not everyone feels that way, obviously—there’s a small but vocal faction who think prisoners should stay in prison where they belong, fearing us.

Felix waves at me and goes to the trailer hitched to his truck, opens the tailgate, and starts to organize equipment. A few minutes later, his guys start showing up, and then Riley arrives with Eddie in tow, along with the rest of the crew. Duane hops out of Eddie’s truck, sees me, lip curling into a vicious, vengeful sneer, and scurries away to open the house they're starting on today.

Now that we've finished the demo, our job is to assist the construction crew, filling in gaps and cleaning up after them. No one likes this part of the process—it makes us demo guys feel like second-stringers. But the brothers like to have the crews working in tandem, so it's the way we do it.

I approach Riley as he shrugs on his hi-vis vest and snags his hard hat. "Got a minute, boss?"

He tosses the hard hat back onto the rear bench. “Sure, man. What's up?"

"Figured you oughta know. Noelle and I had a run-in with Duane last night at the store. He cornered her, talking shit to her. Guess he did it once before, too, the first time she came around the site."

Riley glances at Duane as the scrawny, greasy, weaselly little man gathers tools from the trailer and carries them inside. "Seems in one piece."

I shrug. "Tossed him around a little, threatened him. But I don't like it. Don't like him. He ain't right."

Riley nods, brows lowering. "You're not wrong. He works hard for the most part, but he's always given me skeezy vibes." he winces. "I can't just fire him, though. Need a better reason. Did he put his hands on her?"

I shake my head. "Not that I saw."

"I'll keep an eye on him. I guess just try to keep him away from your girl, and you give him space, too. Neither of you needs any shit—you especially. You’ve got too much to lose now.” Riley claps me on the arm. "Felix asked if I could loan you to his crew. They're putting in a bunch of marble today, and he needs your help. You up for it?"

"Whatever you need, boss."

"Good man. Report to Fee, and I'll catch you for lunch." He snags his hard hat and heads inside to the build our crew is doing cleanup in—it’s been framed out and drywalled, and flooring has been put in, and now it needs to be cleaned up so cabinets, counters, and finishing touches can go in.

I find Felix at the next house over, he and four other guys struggling with a giant slab of marble that must weigh several hundred pounds. "Heard you needed me," I say.

The men all set the slab down together, wiping their brows and panting.

"Thank fuck." Felix gestures at the marble. "Make room, fellas." He juts his chin at me. "Grab the end. You're the base.”

"Got it," I say, circling to the end opposite Felix.

There are suction handles attached to the slag at regular intervals at the top and bottom, providing handholds. I grab a pair on one side at the end, brace my legs, and wait for the count.

"On three," Flex calls. "One…two…three."

I heave upward—a little too fast; the other guys need a second to catch up.

"Holy fuckballs, dude," the dude next to me says, laughing. "You got it by yourself? Shit."

"Probably could," Felix grunts as we carry the huge slab down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Why do you think I—pivot, careful—why d'you think I borrowed his big ass from Riley?"

By the time we get the monster chunk of marble into the kitchen, even I’m huffing and sweating…but to be fair, I’ve got the whole back end by myself while the rest take the front and middle, focusing on guiding it around the narrow turn into the kitchen. After a brief rest, we get it up into position.

I watch as Felix measures, re-measures, and measures a third time before using a special water saw to cut holes for the sink, faucet, and sprayer. "Still need me?" I ask.

He looks up at me, nodding. "Oh yeah." He gestures at the kitchen and the acres of open space above the lower cabinets where counters have to go. "Strap in, big man. We got a lot of work to do."

And so goes my day—lugging slab after slab of marble inside, placing it, and repositioning. I take an interest in the cutting process and end up Felix's assistant as he cuts, places, and joins the sections seamlessly.

By the end of the day, I'm flat-out exhausted but exhilarated. I didn't just destroy shit today, I created something.

Feels good.

Felix and I sit on his tailgate sipping water as the other guys take one last smoke break before cleanup and go time.

He eyes me. "Great work today, man. Woulda taken twice as long." He watches his brother laugh and rough-house with Anthony. "Love to have you on my crew, to be honest. Not sure if my little bro will let you go, though."

I frown. "Yeah, maybe not. But I…" I scrub my face. "I liked the work, today. Building. Creating. Demo is a great outlet, but…"

"You're ready for more," Felix finishes, nodding. "I'll talk to him. See if I can convince him to let you do a few shifts on my crew. How long do you have left in the program?"

"Well, my parole with the state is separate, obviously. You a total of five years in the program, and I’ve done three and a half. After that, I'm good to go wherever. Most guys stay with the crew, though."

"What about you?" he asks.

I mop my face with the hem of my shirt. "Just starting to think about that, to be honest. Been just putting one foot in front of the other. Noelle, though…"

Felix grins, pawing through his wild mane of shaggy blond hair. "Makin' you consider the future, huh?"

I nod, grinning. "Yeah, man. She really is."

He laughs. "A good woman'll do that. Make you feel like you can reach for the moon, long as she's with you." His laugh fades, some old sorrow taking its place. "Lose that, though, and you lose the moon."

"Speaking from experience?" I ask.

He nods. "Yep. Had a woman like that. Fucked it up." He picks at a thread at the knee of his jeans. "Someday, maybe, I'll find another one."

I snort. "They don't grow on trees."

He cackles. "Wow, thanks for that nugget of wisdom, dude."

"Sorry, I just meant—"

He slaps me on the back. "Nah, I got you. You're right. I just mean I'm hoping someday I’ll get another chance."

"With her, or…?”

A slow shake of his head. "Hell nah, man. She's long gone. Got a husband and kids now. Lives in a big ol' mansion in Bloomfield Hills."

"Swanky."

"Right?" he laughs, not quite bitterly, but sort of. "She deserves it. Good woman."

"Take it from me, Felix, second chances come around when you least expect them." I clap his shoulder. "Back to it."

"Yup." He juts his chin at me. "Good talk. I'll have a word with Riley about you pulling shifts with me. Teach you how to build a house."

"I'd like that. Thanks for the chance."

"You're a good man and a hard worker. Riley's lucky to have you."

Buzzing with possibilities, I help Felix's crew with cleanup, putting away tools and locking up. I'm in the back of Felix's trailer, putting things away when I hear Duane's obnoxious, reedy voice complaining—as usual.

"I just don't see what those pompous bozos see in that big dumb oaf. Sure, he's strong, but they act like he shits sunshine and farts roses. Now he's on Felix's crew? It ain’t enough he gets special treatment, rides from the boss, gets to work alone and play whatever music he wants, and don’t even get me started on that goddamn dog of his." He hawks and spits. "And that fuckin' girl of his, man. He's got that fine little piece of ass wrapped around his dumbfuck finger. He ain't shit, man. Somebody oughta show him his place."

Someone laughs—Miguel, I think. "And you think it gonna be you, ey, esé ?” Another laugh—it's Miguel. “You tell me when you teach him this lesson. I will sell tickets."

"Aw, fuck you, Miggy. He ain't so tough. Catch him just right, he'll go down like anyone else. Then maybe I’ll show that pretty little redhead of his what a real man is like."

Miguel spits. " Estupido gringo . He kill you. You stay away from him, and very much stay away from his linda pelirroja .”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you, did I, shithead?" He follows this with a muttered slur.

Miguel sighs, disgusted, muttering imprecations in Spanish, and the sound of their footsteps recede in separate directions.

The unease in my gut grows into a knot of anxiety.

I think Panzer is going to be spending time at the salon from now on.