Chapter 10
brOOKES
My tires skid as I come in hot, pulling up to a faded yellow apartment complex in the shitty part of West Palm Beach.
I hop out of my Range Rover and press the button on my fob, the alarm chirping loudly as I make direct and unwavering eye contact with a couple of kids hanging around, looking like they’re up to no good.
Walking toward the apartment building, I point a threatening finger across at the kids and warn, “Don’t even fuckin’ think about it.”
When they quickly scurry off, I have to bite back my smirk because no matter how tough they try to look, at the end of the day, they’re just kids.
Taking the steps two at a time, I check the numbers on the doors that I pass before stopping at apartment 2D and not hesitating before banging my fist against the flimsy timber.
A few seconds later, the door opens a crack, and I see a pair of brown eyes peering out at me before it swings open fully, a shirtless motherfucker standing right there in front of me.
He’s around five-ten, give or take, lean with a little muscle mass, but I’m six-two, two-twenty, and right now, after hearing the way he spoke to Poppy while I was on the phone with her earlier, I’m fucking pissed.
Stepping in, I’m toe to toe with the asshole, meeting his dark gaze with a steely don’t-even-fucking-try-me stare. “Where’s Poppy?”
“Yo, Poppy!” he yells, still looking directly at me. “Your… boyfriend’s here.” The way he says boyfriend makes my hands ball into fists.
Footsteps sound behind fuckface, and I look up to find Poppy stop suddenly, her face fraught, eyes wide and obviously red-rimmed and bloodshot like she’s been crying. I seethe.
“Brookes?” She gapes at me, her gaze flitting quickly to Simon.
I shove past the skinny prick and in three strides I’m in front of her, fully aware of Captain Fuckface’s eyes on us. I lift a hand, gently cupping her cheek, hearing her sharp intake of breath, and, leaning down, I press my lips to her temple with a whispered, “Are you okay?”
She nods quickly.
“Come on, baby,” I say, loud enough for the asshole to hear. Taking her hand, I lead her to the open door where I assume she came from. “Let’s get your things and get the fuck outta this shit hole.”
When we enter the bedroom, Poppy closes the door behind us and locks it, then, spinning around, she’s incredulous as she looks me up and down while I stand in the center of the tiny room, taking up almost all the available space.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses, pushing her hair back from her flushed face.
“Oh yeah, like I was just going to let you deal with that”—I point a finger in the direction of where we left the fuckface in the living room—“after hearing the way he was speaking to you.”
Poppy cowers a little, her face falling. “You heard that?”
“Yeah.” I scoff. “And fuck that guy,” I say loud enough for him to hear me through the sheet-thin walls. “He’s lucky I don’t go back out there and knock his goddamn teeth down his fucking throat.”
“Oh my God,” Poppy huffs out. “It’s fine, just… don’t worry about him.”
“Okay, what are we taking?” I ask, turning to the bed where there is an overfilled suitcase, a duffle bag that looks about ready to explode, and bins full of… shit. I don’t even know what.
“How the hell did you know where I was?” Poppy asks, clearly still hung up on the fact that I’m here. “I didn’t give my address to Cam.”
I rub at the pinch of guilt in the back of my neck. “I called a friend. At the club…”
She huffs again, muttering, “Pretty sure that’s against the law…”
I look at her, deadpan. “Sue me.”
Rolling her eyes, she closes the suitcase and struggles to zip it. I nudge her out of the way and take over, making quick work of the stubborn zip before hefting the case up and placing it on the floor.
“What else?” I ask her.
“Those bins.” She points at the plastic tubs and I pick them all up at once.
“I’ll take these down,” I say. “Come with me.”
Poppy grabs the duffle bag and opens the door for me, and as we walk out of the apartment, I spear fuckface with a hard glower, daring him to even breathe wrong because I will not hesitate to break his nose.
Outside, Poppy turns to head to the small parking lot off to the side of the building, but I wrestle with my fob, careful not to drop the bins, the Range Rover unlocking with a loud beep.
“This is us,” I say, nodding at the SUV.
Silently, we load everything into the back of the vehicle and I head back to the apartment, stopping and turning to face Poppy.
“What else are you bringing?”
Her eyebrows knit together as she looks from me to the apartment building and back again. “The suitcase. My laptop… that’s it.”
There’s a pang in my chest at the realization that she wasn’t kidding earlier; her whole life does fit into a couple boxes and a suitcase. With a nod, I tell her, “Stay here.”
“Brookes, I—”
“Stay. Here.” I steady her with a serious look and, thankfully, she doesn’t argue, just nods once and waits by the Range Rover, her arms crossed in front of her.
I jog back up the stairs and let myself inside the apartment, ignoring the asshole as he watches me from his place on the sofa.
Grabbing the suitcase and the MacBook that looks as if it’s seen better days, I do a quick look around.
There’s not a lot else in here. Just the bed, the side table, a lamp with a stained shade.
And I don’t even know Poppy, but I hate that this is where she lived, in this tiny room, with a lock on the door.
Carrying the last of Poppy’s things, I walk back through the living room toward the front door, with all intentions of ignoring the sack of shit on the couch. But then he goes and fucks himself by opening his bitch-ass mouth.
“Good luck with her,” he mutters, adding a derisive scoff that grates on me, causing me to stop in my tracks.
I don’t look at him, still staring at the open front door, my jaw ticking while I wait because clearly he has more to say.
“She’s a frigid bitch,” he derides. “You’ll be lucky to get a blow job once a month.”
And that’ll do it.
I let go of the suitcase and place the laptop on top, turning and crossing the small space in a matter of steps, and then, standing above the asshole, I stare down at him, watching his face pale the longer I loom.
My palms burn with the need to smack the shit out of him, but I know I can’t do that.
Assholes like this guy prey on people like me to make the first move so they can take us to court for a quick pay day.
I won’t give this fucker the satisfaction.
“You play for the Hurricanes, huh?”
He hesitates before nodding. “Yeah. Starting short stop.”
“Bruce Wiley still the GM?” I arch a brow.
“Yeah.” He huffs, shrugging like he’s confused by my question.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Well, congrats, bud. You were just dropped from the team.”
The asshole’s face falls, his brows tugging together with confusion, but instead of hanging around to explain to him that Bruce Wiley is a long-time member of the club, and that he owes me a huge favor after getting him and his kid tickets to the Championship last year after they sold out in seconds, I turn and collect Poppy’s things, and without another glance in his direction, I walk out with my grin lingering, my chin held high.
“What happened?” Poppy asks when I return, her gaze wide and full and concern. “Did he say anything?”
I shake my head, avoiding the question and instead loading the rest of her things into the trunk and closing it up. Then, I hand her the fob before I make my way to the passenger door.
“What is this?” Poppy asks, looking from the fob to me.
“Car key,” I say, confused by her question. “You’re driving.”
She eyes the Range Rover dubiously. “I can’t drive this. It’s too big and… expensive.”
“Well, you better get used to it; it’s your car now.”
She gapes at me. “But what about my—”
“It’s handled,” is all I say, knowing she’s referring to her little blue shit box. I already have a tow truck booked for tomorrow to have it removed and stored—or crushed, I haven’t decided yet.
I hop into the car and wait, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the leather headrest. Poppy climbs in, and I hear her get herself comfortable in the driver’s side, but then nothing. Confused, I open one eye and look at her.
“Are we gonna go or just sit here and wait to be carjacked?”
She glances at me, a sheepish look in her eyes as she holds the fob up and says, “I don’t know how to start it. Like, where does this even go?”
I close my eyes and stifle a groan. “Oh my God…”