Page 9 of Wicked & Wildflower

“I told you all I wanted was for you to leave us alone. I’m trying to protectmysister andmydaughter. Fromyou.” I maneuver around my dad. “I don’t know what you were hoping for in coming here, but you can leave. Let us move on.” I’m impressed at the surprising steadiness in my voice, but I wonder if it’s only because I refuse to meet his eyes.

He grabs my arm, holding tightly as I try to wrestle out from under his grip. “Not so quick, darlin’.” He smiles down at me, but it’s coated in disgust. “We’re not done. You’ve got something that belongs to me.”

“No.”

He holds me tighter, and it feels like he’s about to start dragging me out the door when a slamming noise echoes through the otherwise-quiet shop.

A booming voice follows it. “Do we have a problem here?”

I recognize that voice too.

But right now, it feels more like a beacon than a curse.

Tattooed arms crossed against his chest, stretching his black t-shirt tight. Quiet rage simmers behind those brown eyes as they soak in the scene around us. I’m thankful the store was at least empty, but I’m humiliated thathe’switnessing it.The man fromthe bar, who’s looking at the grip around my arm with enough heat to melt through iron.

“Get your fucking hand off her.”

5

Wicked

I’m Her Boyfriend. Who Are You?

He immediately lets goof her arm and steps back. I preen at the kernel of fear in his eyes.

I can’t believe she’s standing in front of me, though I wonder if I should be surprised at this point. She blew into that bar like a hurricane, dismantling all of my composure and leaving destruction in her wake when she breezed out of my life just as quickly as she came.

Here she is again, in my business, dessert spilled across the floor, requiring rescue from yet another douchebag. “Need my saving once again, huh,cariño?”

Her nostrils flare at the pet name, but I’m not sure what she expects, considering she won’t give me her real one. I’d heard enough of the conversation to understand now exactly who the woman standing in front of me is.

I also don’t let myself think too hard about the eventual fallout of our earlier actions.

She looks just as pretty in her white t-shirt and denim cut-offs as she did in the bar that night. She’s wearing less makeup, and her hair is thrown up in a loose bun. Now that I catalog her features, I realize she does closely resemble her sister—the lips, nose, and freckles—but it’s her eyes that have me feeling adrift. A color that doesn’t match Darby’s. A shade of blue I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist anywhere but right inside her irises.

The space around us fades to nothing as I study those eyes–as they study me. I watch the heat rise on her cheeks, the flush running down her neck and disappearing beneath the vee of her shirt. I wonder if she’s remembering all the same things I am.

“It never did take you long, did it, Dahlia?” The man next to her scoffs in disbelief as he rapidly looks back and forth between us. I wonder if the hunger on my face is that obvious, or if he just knows her well enough to see it on her too. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” I watch her physically flinch at the blow of his words, and then I see red as rage overtakes me. “You’ve always been a slut.”

Dahlia recoils back from him, and I watch as she shrinks in on herself, as the words land.

It sends me into a tailspin, and before I fully understand my actions, I’m on the other side of the room with the asshole shoved against the wall and my elbow on his throat. The piece of shit would be half my size on a good day, and the way he looks up at me with hatred in his stare tells me he’s well aware of it too. His skin flushes red as I cut off his oxygen, and bloodshot eyes move from me to the woman standing behind me.

“Don’t look at her. Look at me.” He listens, and I make sure he’s entirely focused on my face before I speak again. “I’m gonna ask you nicely to leave my store.” I press a little harder, and he gasps as he fights for air. “You’re never going to speak about her like that again. I don’t want to hear Dahlia’s name out of your mouth. If you continue to bother her, I’m gonna make sure Iknow about it, in which case, I’m going to be a lot less fucking polite. Are we understood?”

“Who are you?” he gasps between choking breaths.

I smile. “I’m her boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”

I hear Dahlia gasp at that, but I don’t have time to think those words through or watch her reaction, so I keep my eyes on the man in front of me.

He’s older; I don’t think he’s some sort of former flame. I don’t think she’s been in town long enough to have one. The longer I stare into his brown eyes, I realize that they might be Darby’s eyes. I take in the color of his hair; though streaked with gray, it’s the same dishwater blond that matches Dahlia’s natural shade.

I think I might be holding her father against the wall by the throat.

There’s defiance in his stare. I don’t let up, though. I don’t move. I don’t give him air to breathe, not until he finally gives me a slight nod. I back up and let him peel off the wall. He straightens out his trousers and brushes his hands down his wrinkled button up. “We have things to discuss, Dahlia,” he mutters without making eye contact with either of us.

“No, we don’t.” Her voice is soft and timid. She’s scared.

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