Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
HUDSON
I can’t say I was thrilled to trade sex for tools, so when Wilde turned me down, it was almost a relief. Almost. Because now I’m out of ideas.
I’m not sure what happened last night, but after we got off, there was a moment there where things got a bit too real.
Where I looked at him and saw an actual person through the wild-man beard, which isn’t something I want to happen ever, ever again.
I’d like to continue to view Wilde as a walking dildo and the source of all of my frustrations.
I have a rare bar of service, so I use it to call through to our building manager and get the rundown on what’s happening back home. I’m almost holding my breath as I wait for him to tell me the world is on fire, but all the tension whistles out of me when he confirms it’s business as usual.
“Hart’s got me everything I need,” he says, and it pulls me up short.
“Hart? ”
“Yeah, he’s been checking in every day. If he doesn’t call, I’ll have an email or two. He scored us a contract that starts next month, so I’m in the process of sourcing everything for it now.”
I’m still not sure I’m understanding, but I also don’t want to make my lack of faith in my brother obvious. “That’s good to hear,” I answer vaguely before we say our goodbyes.
Then I hover in the middle of the street, looking at where our car is usually parked. Hart leaves with it most days, and I thought it was because he wanted to spend as little time here as possible, but apparently, he’s actually … doing something with his time.
I shouldn’t be this surprised.
I shouldn’t.
Because if he’s being productive and Kennedy is being responsible, then I’m the disaster brother.
Fuck me, I did not see that coming. Our move here was supposed to stop that from happening.
I listen to the whirl of the drill as I pace.
I’ve cleaned up as much of the site as I can with one hand partially out of commission, and now we’re trying to move on to the next stage, but it’s such a long fucking process.
None of the electricians we’ve reached out to have been interested in working up here, and we’re running out of options.
Do I go and become a qualified electrician myself?
We don’t have the years to waste on that.
I’m close to pulling out my hair when I turn toward the sound of something … squeaking?
The road is clear, and Kennedy’s drilling has stopped, but it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from inside the house.
Skeek. Skeek. Skeeeek.
It sounds like … a busted wheel. Maybe.
I loop around the nearest house, ears pricked for the sound. It’s stopped, but I know there has to have been someone here. Our site is clear, and I’m beginning to think I imagined it when I make it back to the street and almost run headfirst into a man.
He’s tall and lanky, has a lot of messy black hair, and his dark eyes fly wide under pierced eyebrows. I’m pretty sure this is the guy who’s been helping Wilde keep an eye on us. It takes one look from his startled expression to the cart full of our tools before my shock disappears.
I shove him into the building and press my arm to his throat. “ You stole our tools!”
There’s sound inside the house, probably Kennedy, but I’m too fixated on the man in front of me.
He throws his hands up between us, head shaking madly, almost like he’s scared, and maybe I’d care more about his feelings if I hadn’t busted him with our shit.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps shaking his head, pressing back against the building like he’ll somehow disappear inside it.
“Hudson?” Kennedy asks, pausing at the bottom of the front stairs. “What’s going on?”
“Look at what’s in the cart.”
“It’s … our tools?”
“Exactly. I caught this motherfucker with them!”
The man tries to wriggle away from me, but I press my forearm tighter. His gaze is fixed somewhere on the ground, and the only thing he’s doing is shaking his head nonstop.
“Jesus, Huddy,” Kennedy says as he approaches. “At least let him explain.”
“Explain how he ended up with our things? It’s pretty obvious to me.”
“I mean it.” Kennedy grabs my arm. “Let him go.”
“We can’t be weak with these people! ”
“I’m not being weak.” He glares at me. “You told me to stand up for shit, so now I’m doing it. Let him go. You’re hurting him.”
I’m definitely not hurting him, but Kennedy being so direct makes me back off. I slowly release the pressure on this guy’s throat, and he slumps back against the wall. My heart is still racing, an insistent, stubborn reaction to literally everything that’s going on with me.
“Don’t even think about running,” I grit out.
Kennedy shoots me a warning look but turns to the man. “Are you okay?”
He hasn’t looked away from the ground, but after a moment, he nods.
“Sorry about Hudson. We’re all a bit stressed.”
He nods again.
Kennedy shifts closer. “I’m Kennedy. Who are you?”
The man drags his gaze from the ground to brush over me before settling on my brother’s face. There’s a long stretch of nothing, but the man lifts a hand and makes two fast, slashing movements over his mouth.
“You … can’t talk?” Kennedy asks, and I look back at the guy, waiting for confirmation.
Instead, he sighs. It’s one of those full-body ones that has his shoulders sagging, and then he clears his throat and drops his gaze somewhere around Kennedy’s throat.
“Ziggy.” It’s barely a whisper.
“Ziggy?” Kennedy confirms, and when the man doesn’t answer, my brother’s natural smile shines through. “Did you steal our tools?”
The man shakes his head.
“Do you know who did?”
A nod.
I finally catch on to what Kennedy is doing. This guy can talk, but he clearly doesn’t want to, at least around us. “Was it Wilde?” I cut in.
Ziggy’s gaze flicks my way, but he stops short of looking at me. He doesn’t confirm it either, just shifts his weight to the other foot and kicks at the dirt.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I say, and still there’s no answer.
“Did …” Kennedy squints toward the cart of tools. “Did Wilde tell you to bring them back to us?”
Another pause, then another nod.
Well, fuck.
I attacked the messenger.
Both hands rake back through my hair. We’re in a new place, but I’m still the same me. When does this end? “I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me at all, and I can’t say I blame him.
What was supposed to bring out the best in us is bringing out the worst in me, and I don’t love it.
I’m so tense and on edge, and you’d think after that muscle-melting orgasm last night, I’d be in a way better headspace, but it’s worse.
It’s so much worse. Because I already want it again, and that’s driving the guilt in deeper because it should never have happened at all.
“This can’t keep happening,” I say, more to myself than to them. “This whole fucking thing is so fucking stupid.”
Kennedy ignores me. “You like it here?” he asks Ziggy.
Once again, the guy wordlessly confirms it.
“Is Wilde giving the tools back as a peace offering?”
A shrug is the only answer.
“Did he also clean the motorcycle?”
Ziggy shakes his head quickly, then glances at me like he’s worried I’ll come for him again, before turning all his attention on Kennedy. He points at his chest .
“ You did it?” Kennedy’s expression softens. “Thank you. That was really nice.”
Ziggy goes on staring at the ground.
I exchange a look with my brother because I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now.
All I know is that I want to be done with this.
The short fuse is nothing new, but I don’t want to make everyone into my enemy, and if Wilde is giving us these back, it makes me think that whatever that thing was last night, he felt it too.
Maybe he’s realized I’m not a walking dildo either.
That doesn’t feel like a good thing.
“This is going to sound random,” I warn them both. “But I think I need to talk to Wilde.”
“Talk?” Kennedy repeats, sounding wary.
“Yes. Talk .” Because with all the times we’ve griped at each other, we’ve never actually tried that.
It sounds offensively boring, but I’m willing to try anything at this point.
Who knows? Maybe if Wilde knew how desperately I need to tear his town apart, he might suddenly be okay with it.
Doubtful, but he can’t say I didn’t try.
“Is he home?” I ask Ziggy.
Silent treatment again. I deserve it, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. I give Kennedy the help me eyes that he clearly finds amusing, but he does it anyway.
“If Hudson goes to Wilde’s house, will he find him there?”
Ziggy lifts his shoulders again.
“Fuck it, I’m going anyway.”
Kennedy trails me to the bike. “Don’t fight him.”
“I won’t.”
“Your fingers are still broken.”
“Well aware. ”
He hovers in front of the bike as I climb onto it. “Don’t sleep with him either.”
I tug on the helmet, already hating myself. “Don’t need to. He got me off last night.”
“Hudson!”
“I know, I know. Stupid choices are nothing new for me. But I’m really going to talk to him and hopefully get to some kind of resolution.”
Some of the worry leaves his face. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“I dunno.” I start the bike up, the loud growl of the engine filling the street. “But I need to do something.”
He pats the handlebars. “Good luck, then.”
Something tells me that I’m going to need it.