Page 69 of The Revenge Agenda

Seven tosses me a look, evil glint in his eyes. “I’m coming with you. I’ve been waiting for this moment for months.”

There’s no way in hell I’m arguing with having someone his size for backup.

I nod his way, and we both jump in the car. I’ll wait outside his house all day for him to get home if I have to. I’ve got nowhere else to be today. Definitely nowhere more important.

And like the universe is solidly on my side, his car is in the driveway when I pull up. Seven and I don’t say a word as we jump out and cross his lawn, and I almost put my fist through the front door when I knock.

There’s scrambling inside. A thump followed by a curse, and a moment later, Ian pulls open the door. The sight of him, pants unbuttoned, shirt open, another doe-eyed man gazing back at me from behind the couch is all the incentive I need.

My fist smacks into his cheek before he even sees it coming, and Ian hits the wall.

“What the fuck!” he explodes.

He starts for me, but before he can get hold, Seven cuts him off. His large fists grip the collar of Ian’s shirt, and he lifts him until they’re eye to eye and Ian’s toes are scraping the ground.

“I don’t believe in violence. I also don’t believe in intimidating someone. But for someone as filthy-hearted and disgusting as you, that all went out the window when I watched you eat fist. I hope the rest of your life is as scummy as you are.” Seven tosses him on the ground like he weighs nothing, then salutes Ian and pulls the door closed behind us.

Ian shouts something that I miss as Seven turns to me with a huge grin on his face.

“That felt great.”

“Intimidating him?”

“Getting to say my piece. Screw him and people like him.” He kicks the grass on the way back to the car. “Why do people have to go around hurting each other?”

“They’re assholes?”

His jaw tics. “Yeah. Well, I wish they could just … not.”

“Not?”

“Exactly. How hard is it to be a decent person?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “If I had an answer to that, I might be a decent person myself.”

Seven nudges me. “From where I’m standing, you’re doing all right.” He nods to my hand. “How does it feel?”

I flex my hand, easing the ache building across my knuckles. “Sore,” I say. “And so, so sweet.”

Chapter 20

Rush

It’s not right. Isn’t working. All messed up. Every new design, every new idea, every new stitch in fabric that isn’t good enough drives me further and further into frustration. I broaden the lapels and add an extra button and bring in the waist and let out the waist, lengthen the front, then the back, but it’s not working it’s not working it’s not working.

What am I missing?

I jump as hot liquid hits my shirt and quickly set the mug down to fan the mess off my skin. It’s sticky, and when I glance down, I’m hit with the filthy stains decorating the front of my shirt. Do I have another one up here? I thought I did. I comb through fabric over my workstation, built up around my sewing machine, tossed over the chair in the corner.

A growl builds in my chest because of course the edge of my red velour is crushed under the chair leg. I can’t take care of fucking anything. Once I’m done with this suit, I’ll be able to take a moment to get a list together. To set up the atelier in a more streamlined way. Maybe shelves on the far wall and racks for my rolls of cotton, a nice big bench in the center of the room instead of the long one shoved up against the wall, some drawers for my buttons and needles and pins, and a whole wall of thread.

It will make everything so much more streamlined. I just need to finish this suit, and then I’ll have time to get organized.

“You always say that.”

I jump at the voice and spin to find Madden sitting by one of the large windows. “When did you get here?”

“Which time?”

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