Page 30 of Riding the Sugar High

He bites his bottom lip as he looks away, adopting that same pleased expression I want to wipe off his face. He always looks so content with himself, like he’s a prize for the rest of us. Like he’s above shit like decency and empathy and respect.

“Did you happen to get them from Mikey? ’Cause I could’ve sworn his sow only gave birth a couple of weeks ago. And I don’t need to tell you what that would mean.”

“Yeah, well. You can report us if you’re so concerned.”

“Oh, I did, but you know better than me that cases like this can be dragged out for years if they ever get picked up at all. By then, the pigs would be sausage already.” I lean forward, looking into his small, protruding eyes. “But, hey, I hope you find them.”

The rhythmic chirping of crickets sounds around us as he stares back.

“I need those pigs, Logan,” he says as he lazily kicks a small rock. “You keep stealing my animals, and my reputation is taking a hit. I don’t want to have to start a war with you.”

“Smart. You’d lose it.”

His teeth are bared when he looks away, as if reflecting on what angle he can go about this from. He probably knows he’s wasting his breath, just like he knows that the animals I keep stealing from him, he had obtained or dealt with illegally.

“So, is it true? Is Primrose here?”

My jaw tightens as I glare.

Bad, bad choice.

“She just can’t take a hint, can she?” He breathes through his teeth. “I’m sorry she got you involved in her pathetic obsession with me, but—hey, I’m happy to get her off your hands if I get the piglets back.”

Though my teeth clench so hard they hurt, I smirk. It’s almost comical—he wants to get her off my hands, while I’d rather cut my hands off than let him anywhere near her.

“Unless you want my leftovers.”

The word hangs in the air like a death sentence as he winks, and in an instant, my vision blurs, my ears ringing with the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel so much fury, it’s debilitating.

Derek’s right. I do have a temper, and I spend eighty percent of my daily energy on trying to keep it in check. But I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in months, and he said the one thing I really wish he hadn’t.

I stand, then walk closer, jerking my chin down to look at him. “What did you just call her?”

When he laughs—a harsh, grating sound that feels like nails on a chalkboard—my fingers tighten into a fist. I try to remind myself of the consequences an assault charge would bring, but I keep hearing that word echo in my brain.

Leftovers.

I’m gonna fucking kill him.

I step forward, but the door opens, and I drop my charged fist to my side.

Holy shit, Primrose looks gorgeous. My eyes run up the pink dress she’s wearing, and even with the blueberries on it, it’s still the most beautiful piece of clothing I could picture her in. Her hips are wrapped in it like a Christmas present, and it pushes her tits up in a way that makes me feel lightheaded.

Her eyes blow wide as she stands against the door frame. “Derek?”

She’s afraid. Why is sheafraidof him?

He waves at her, the same slimy smirk on his face. “It’s been a while, Prim. How are you?”

Turning my back on her, I grab him by his shirt and pull him toward the gate, his feet stumbling back as he tries to keep up. “Give me the list,” I hiss into his ear as soon as we’re out of range.

“W-what?” He straightens, clawing my hands as he breathes hard.

“The list—fucking give it right now.”

“I don’t have it with me,” he says, his nervous voice betraying him. “Let me?—”

“Of course you have it. You brought it here so you could taunt her with it at the first opportunity.” I tug him closer, his disgusting face an inch from mine. “Give it, or the next thing to burn down will be your dick.”

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