The second guy finally came to. He lumbered to his feet, took one look at Stack with the other man, then turned tail and ran.
“Why’s he allowed to get away and I’m not?”
Smirking, Stack looked back at his quarry. “He won’t get far.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and given the blood on his face and swollen lips and jaw, he looked pretty hideous. “You just became my snitch, bitch.” Registering the shock gave Stack little satisfaction, but it was better than no satisfaction at all. “You’re going to tell me who your chickenshit friend is, and you’re going to help me find the asshole who hired you.”
“I told you I don’t know.”
“But you’ll find out.” Stack crouched down before him. “Because if you don’t, if you disappoint me, I’ll find you. You can trust me on this—you don’t want that to happen.”
It took only five minutes more before Denver and Justice showed up. Justice, the ass, stepped out of the car cracking his knuckles. Denver just looked his usual imposing self. As heavyweights, they were both massive, layered in muscle, and could easily inspire a healthy dose of fear in any man.
The man he’d already softened up was duly impressed.
Stack left it in their capable hands. He didn’t mention his arm, which now hurt like a son of a bitch. He didn’t think it was serious, but he’d figure it out at the rec center.
It’d take a hell of a lot more than a sneak attack by an unknown assailant or an injured arm to keep him away. Vanity would be there, and that was all the incentive he needed to prioritize.
Sex with Vanity, yup. Top priority all the way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
VANITY HAD THE DOGS settled in the main part of the house, toys and chews available. To keep them from destroying too much, she’d closed the doors to the bedrooms, basement and hall bath.
That left a lot of destruction possible, but she’d done all she could.
She stepped out of the house, closed and locked her front door—and became instantly aware that she wasn’t alone.
Startled, her hand automatically grabbing for the mace in her purse, she turned and came face-to-face with f’ing Phil.
“Hey there.” He smiled, nonthreatening, not too close. He kept his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, a knit hat pulled low over his head.
“Phil.” Vanity didn’t move. “What are you doing here?” She looked beyond him but didn’t see Lynn or Tabby. Odd. She didn’t feel exactly threatened, but neither was she comfortably at ease. Few had her address, and no one who did would have shared it. Did that mean Phil had followed her?
“Sorry to drop in like this.” He nodded at the keys in her hand. “You’re on your way out?”
“Heading to the rec center to meet Stack.” Just in case Phil had any unruly thoughts, she added, “He’s expecting me.”
Nodding to acknowledge that, Phil said, “I won’t keep you. I just... I was hoping I could impose on you.”
Keeping her expression carefully blank, Vanity asked, “Impose how?”
“A small loan?” As if shamed, he winced. “I hate to ask, and God knows Stack would lose his shit if he knew I asked you.”
Most definitely, Stack would be enraged. He pretty much stayed enraged at Phil anyway, but this...it was over the top, so much so that Stack just might take him apart if he knew.
Not that she planned to start keeping secrets from Stack. But she could be judicious in how and when she shared this particular exchange. And if she could influence things that made Stack’s life easier, that improved his relationship with his family, she’d jump on it.
Heading to her car, she asked, “A loan for what?”
“I’m trying to find a job. You know that, right?”
It felt very unnerving to have Phil at her back, so she turned and walked backward to keep him in her sights. “I had heard that, yes.”
“Well, there’s this one possibility at a drywall plant. Decent starting pay and bennies. But I need some stuff. Steel-toed boots, overalls, a hard hat.”
“The plant doesn’t supply the equipment?” She’d never heard of such a thing, but, granted, she’d never worked at a factory job either.
He shook his head—and maybe, though Vanity couldn’t be sure, his gaze went to her breasts, lingering longer than was proper.
She zipped up her hoodie. “How much would you need?”
“Five hundred?”
For boots and a hard hat? She gave him a look. “Phil, really, do I look stupid?”