Page 6 of Ransom

Jesus fuck. Rob the joint? This kid's going to turn me grey.

The guy in the leather jacket chokes out a muffled laugh. "Um, no, I'm not a bad guy. Just because I wear a leather jacket doesn't make me a bad guy. You watch too many movies."

Max waves a hand, like he's swatting a fly, and turns his attention to the guy in the suit. "What about you? You look rich. Are you? Or do you just dress fancy? I bet you're just a fancy dresser, and you drive a piece of shit car home to your baby momma."

"Jesus,” Suit Guy mumbles, turning to the other guy. “Who the fuck is this kid, and why do I want to somehow prove to him that I'm actually rich and not just faking it?" I almost laugh at that. Almost. Max has that effect on people.

"I don't know, man. And 'baby momma'? Seriously? Where did he even?—"

Time to nip this shit in the butt. "Maxwell Jones, have you been watching that stupid show again?" I wonder if a reality TV addiction is genetic. Maggie sure as fuck has the same problem, but I'm not going to quarrel with a forty-three-year-old woman about her choice in TV.

The kid though? That's a fucking problem.

Both men spin to look at me. Their mouths don't drop open, but it's close. I'm not shocked. I stopped getting annoyed when people stare at me twenty years ago. Women built like me, over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, aren't exactly all over the beauty magazines. I’m not ugly. I know that. But still, men can get a little squirrely around me. So I let them look for a second as Max, straddling his bike, sniffs.

"Nu huh," he says, eye twitching. A dead giveaway. Little liar. I move closer to him and crouch down.

"Liar. You have a tell, little man. Don't ever try to play poker. You'll lose your money and end up living under a bridge."

He wipes the back of his hand across his nose, smearing dirt across his face. Gross. I thought the baby stage was bad, with all the…fluids, but this isn't much better. "Don't matter. I like it under the bridge. Me 'n' Nikki built a fort under there. It's got lizards and frogs and everything."

Of course he did. Those two are either going to be in jail by the time they're eighteen, or millionaires. Could go either way. "Sounds like paradise." I stand, backing up a little, trying to escape his stench. His typical little boy smell is overlaid with the unmistakable smell of dog shit. "Now I think you better head on home. Your mom is going to be looking for you. And make sure you take your shoes off before you go inside. You smell like shit, so you'd better check the bottoms real good."

The kid shoots a foot out behind him and cranes his neck, then does the same to the other one. "Yup. There it is," he says, like it happens every day. Which it nearly does. The kid's got shit luck in the shit department. "Kay, I'm going. Can you message my mom and tell her I'm coming in hot with a shit situation?"

I nod, already anticipating the look on Maggie's face when he gets home. "Will do."

"Thanks, Aunt Blair. See you later." He pedals away, completely ignoring the two very large men watching him go.

"What a weird kid. It's—" The guy in the suit stops talking, then they both stare at each other. Then, leather jacket guy takes a step toward me. "Blair?"

I'm a fucking statue, a mixture of frustration and anger welling up inside me. I know who these fuckers are. Well, not specifically, but they know who I am, and I can only think of one reason a stranger might come looking for me.

"Holy fuck," the suit guy says. "You're Blair McKenna."

I am so over this shit. Ransom Kyle won't take the fucking hint.

"I'm guessing you're his guys? He sent you to get the paperwork signed? You're wasting your time. I'm not selling. Not ever. They will have to pry my cold dead body out from under a car when I'm eighty. That's the only way I'm leaving."

Visions of Ransom, the way he was the day he broke my heart, fill my mind and add a growl to my tone. I step closeruntil I'm right in both their faces. "Ransom's obviously too big of a coward to ever come back here, so you tell him for me, 'kay? NOT. FUCKING. SELLING. I don't care what deal he and my dad had. Now I'm done. You should go."

I turn around and stomp back to the garage, yanking the chain to slam one bay door, then the next, and then let myself lean against it. Why won't he just back the fuck off? He made it very clear twenty-five years ago that he was done with me and this town. He has no right coming back and stirring shit up. Because that's what he's doing. That first offer took my breath away. Not the money, though that wasn't bad. But looking up the name on that offer, Brash Group, and seeing his picture on the fucking website took out my knees.

Yanking out my phone, I call Mags. And of course, she lets it ring forever before she picks it up. She's done that her whole fucking life. She says phone calls are aggressive. Most of the time I’m fine with texting, but right now, I need to hear her voice.

"What's up, Buttercup?"

"Max stepped in dog shit."

"Oh hell. Not again." There's shuffling noises, and I can picture her rushing from the kitchen, her favorite place in her house, to the front door. On cue, the door squeaks as she opens it. "Got him." She pulls the phone away from her mouth as she yells. "Max baby, you're supposed to step over the shit. Not in it." He yells something back, and the tension in my shoulders releases. I let their arguing wash over me; the words don't matter, only that I can hear the laughter and picture their smiles.

This. This is what matters. The people here that I love. I don't want or need Ransom's bullshit in my life.

He's done with this town, and I'm done with him. And I'm going to make sure he realizes it once and for all.

3

RANSOM

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