It had been a month since Gray was shot in the chest and the bruise was gone.  Other than a scraped knee from passing out from adrenaline overload, that was the extent of his injuries, thanks to the vest he’d worn. 

Thank God he’d only been out a split second, otherwise Michaela Girabaldi might be dead. More thanks to the kickass team with him, who gave him cover when he made the insane decision to run into that hailstorm of bullets to rescue her from the warehouse war he’d started. 

His only excuse was seeing that bully abusing her right in front of his nose made him snap.  How could he not shoot him between the eyes?  Gray would’ve aimed lower, but he didn’t want to chance hitting Michaela. He snorted—yeah, like he’d thought of all that through the rage that consumed him.  That rage and his adrenaline rush could’ve gotten them all killed.

Gray did not act impulsively, he thought and planned out everything to the last detail. Until he met Michaela Girabaldi.  That was another reason he needed to be thankful she was out of his life.

Tension twisted inside his chest and the pain grew worse. A sharp shard of pain sliced right through his sternum and he moaned. 

Why in the hell wouldn’t the pain in his chest go away? 

He felt like the bullet had gone straight through the vest into his heart, no, through his heart to his backbone.  That’s how bad he hurt.  Gray rubbed his knuckles between his pecs until his sternum burned.

He’d asked the guys about it, most of them had been shot for real.  They said the soreness usually went away in a few days.  Slade added—unless you’re  a pussy, which is the category where Gray was starting to think he belonged. 

Maybe it wasn’t from the gunshot—his father had a few issues over the years with his heart. Gray was thirty-six, so he could be having them too, just earlier.  He should probably make another appointment with his doctor, because he couldn’t go on like this. 

He picked up the phone, but Hawk leaned into the doorway. “How’s it hanging, Mr. Dill?” he asked, then laughed at his tired joke. 

That brought to mind the offensive t-shirt Gray had thrown away three times and pulled out of the garbage twice.  It was in there again right now. He’d thrown it in the dumpster this morning, but he had three damned days to think about it and change his mind.  In all likelihood he’d go dumpster diving at midnight, like he had last time.

Gray groaned and put the phone down when Hawk dangled the familiar green shirt between his fingers.  “I threw that damned thing away!  Put it back in the trash,” he shouted, scrubbing his hand over his almost fully-bearded jaw. 

When was the last time he’d showered?  Had he shaved then? He looked down at his coffee-stained dress shirt and groaned. 

Fuck, he was losing his damned mind and it was all Michaela Girabaldi’s fault.

All the experts said, and he’d Googled it, that sleep deprivation could drive a person insane, and he was definitely deprived.  When was the last time he’d slept?  The two-hour cat nap he’d tried to take yesterday on the sofa in the front room, but failed because every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

“Nah, I think I’ll frame it and hang it up in your office.” Hawk took a step to continue down the hall, but leaned back in again.  “You need to take a shower and shave man, because you look like shit.  I’ve seen homeless men look better and this is just not you.”

Gray had seen a homeless woman look better and therein lay his problem.  That red suit, that ass—the coffee shop—that mouth.  His lips twitched, his eye ticked.

“Vaffanculo, stronzo,” Gray growled, and wanted to chew his tongue off.

The Italian curse words, which had become second nature to him, stung his tongue.  He needed to purge them from his vocabulary.  He was not a curser before, but he certainly was now.  If only purging Michaela Girabaldi from his mind would be so easy.

“Oh, that reminds me…I talked to Michaela, yesterday.  Funny thing—I asked her if she wanted me to tell you anything and that’s just what she said.  What does it mean?”

“It means leave me the hell alone, Hawkins!” Gray shouted, his hand curling into a fist around his mouse.  Goddamn, it was a physical pain for him not to ask him how she was doing.  Hawk must’ve sensed that, because his smile dropped. 

“Are y’all really done?” he asked.  “I’m only messing with you because I thought maybe you were just on a time-out with her while things cool down.”

Gray’s eyes flew to his. “Why, are you going to date her?  If so, buy yourself a life insurance policy.”  There was that damned pain again. He dropped the mouse to rub between his pecs.

“So you don’t care if I date her?” Hawk asked sounding surprised. “I have to bring Logan back to the east coast and it’s only a hop, skip, and a jump to Jersey.” 

Oh, Gray cared—too damned much—but it wouldn’t do him any damned good.

“She’s in fucking prison, dumbass. Date her all you like, but I don’t think they allow conjugal visits there anymore.” Gray flinched as an image of Hawkins and Michaela together made him want to puke.

“Not as of three weeks ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear that her cousin woke up and Michaela is a free bird now. Sounds like she’s a free agent too, so I may just drop by to see her.” Hawkins winked at him before he left, and Gray just sat there, stunned.

How in the fuck had that happened?  How had he not heard about it when he was one of the star witnesses the prosecutor had lined up to testify against her?  Gray had sent him all the damning evidence he’d collected.  The prosecutor said that assured bail wouldn’t be set in her case because she was a flight risk and charged with murder. 

It just didn’t make a damned bit of sense. 

Gray was glad to hear she was out, but terrified that he’d fucked up the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him, too.  Had he gone through all this misery, put her through it too, for nothing?  Gray could call the prosecutor to find out, but he’d been avoiding the man who wanted him to testify against her.  Calling Carlos Ramos was a better bet.  He’d probably know what happened, or could find out.

He picked up the phone, but Lou Ellen appeared in his doorway looking extremely serious, and that was never a good thing.  With a sigh, he put the phone down and wondered if his day could get any worse, then wanted to throat punch himself for even thinking that invitation of doom.  Like an ostrich in the sand, Gray just wanted to bury his head in the mountain of paper on his desk and forget.  He wished like hell everyone would leave him alone so he could do that.

“What now?” Gray asked, closing his eyes because he really didn’t want to know.  He wasn’t sure how much more he could take before he snapped.

“There’s someone here to see you and he wants to see you outside,” Lou Ellen informed. “I tried to give him the brush off, but he said he would wait a week if he had to.”

“Dante Girabaldi?” Gray guessed, opening his eyes. 

When she’s proven innocent, cazzone, you have an ass whipping coming.  And you will apologize to her, no matter what it takes to get her to listen to you. Capisce?”

“Yes, and he doesn’t look happy,” she confirmed.

“How in the hell did he get through the gate?” Gray asked, glaring at her.

“I think Hawk let him in,” she replied.

Hawkins had an ass whipping coming to him, too.  If there was anything left of him after Dante finished.  It was a good day to die, Gray thought, as he loosened his tie and stripped it off.  He unbuttoned his shirt as he stomped down the hallway and found Hawk in the conference room with Izzy.

“Give me that damned shirt, stronzo. It’s my lucky shirt and I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”

Hawk laughed as he got up to walk to the trashcan in the front office.  He pulled out the shirt, that probably smelled worse than he did at the moment, and held it out to him.  Gray dropped his dress shirt, pulled it over his head, took a deep breath and walked to the front door. 

A good fight might be just what he needed, or a good beating in this case.  Maybe afterwards he would remember he was still alive, if he lived through it.

Gray walked out onto the porch and stood at the top of the steps staring at Dante, who leaned against a badass black Charger with his arms crossed over his thick chest.  Of course, the Italian Stallion would have to display his weapons for optimum intimidation, he thought, noticing he wore a black tank top.  And those dark, mirrored shades were the perfect accessory to up his opponent’s pucker factor too. 

Gray was pretty puckered up when he stepped on the top stair.  But he wasn’t about to let this man know it, because that fear would give him added satisfaction on top of pummeling him. Regardless, he had a feeling when he went to New Jersey to issue the apology he knew Dante would demand next, he’d probably be black and blue and have a hard time getting the words out of his swollen mouth.

“It’s time to pay the fucking piper for making my sister cry, testa di cazzo.  I plan to take an inch out of your ugly ass for every tear she’s cried over the last month. And then I’ll take what’s left for the ones she cried before she was proven innocent because of you.”

Gray had enough of his posturing, it was time for some action.  His blood practically sizzled with anticipation. “You sure do talk a good game, Rambo.  Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.” 

Dante looked a little surprised when Gray hustled down the steps to stand in front of him.  The best defense is a good offense, he thought balling up his fist.  Before the Italian Stallion could unfold his arms, Gray drew his fist back and swung with enough momentum to knock the smug smile off of his face.  When it connected with the side of his mouth, exhilaration surged through him.

Dante’s head rocked hard and he grunted as he side-stepped, holding his jaw.

Glass chin mother fucker?  Gray brought up his other fist for a follow up, but Dante blocked it with his forearm.  The upper-cut he served under Gray’s chin rattled his teeth and showed him exactly what a glass chin was.

Gray’s head snapped back and he staggered as those little cartoon birds danced in his line of vision.  He’d seen them on TV as a kid, but never believed they existed.  He was a believer now.

With a growl, Gray shook his head, then lowered it to charge into the man’s rock-hard stomach, which he discovered too late could possibly give him a concussion when it didn’t budge.  He pushed again to shove him back into his badass car and the sickening thunk when it caved in made Gray grin.  Dante squealed then cursed as he shoved Gray hard.

“That’s my fucking car, cazzone!” He looked back at the big butt-sized pothole above his left front tire and growled. 

Gray’s grin widened and he tasted coppery blood as the adrenaline coursing through him made his blood feel carbonated.  His heart wasn’t having any problems pumping now.

“That should cost about as much to fix as the rental rod I trashed at the beach house to save your fucking sister’s life.”  Gray lunged toward the car and raised his foot, intending to put it into the door, but Dante tackled him and pushed him away like a football tackle dummy.  They fell hard and Dante landed on top of him.

Gray had found the man’s Achilles heel and he fully intended to exploit it.  Just as soon as he could get the big galoot off of him.  He bucked, Dante shot forward, but plopped right back down on top of him, squeezing the air out of his gut. 

Dante raised his fist and put it on a trajectory toward Gray’s nose, but he turned his head just in time to catch it in his left eye.  Flashes of light blinded Gray and he felt it start to swell.  He wasn’t going to just lie here and let this asshole hit him.  When Dante raised up to deliver another blow, Gray managed a short punch to his gut and he fell to the side with a grunt.  Gray jabbed him with an elbow in the ribs to buy more time, as he vaulted to his feet and headed for the car again. 

He grabbed one windshield wiper, and with two tugs, ripped it out of the base.  He threw it to the ground then moved to the driver’s door and bent his knee and plunged it into the door. 

Dante was on his knees by the time Gray figured out he would have to kick it to do any damage.  He lifted his foot, but Dante grabbed his leg and pulled him off of his feet.  When he tried to pounce on top of Gray again, he rolled to the side then kicked him in the knee. 

With a growl, Dante rolled away, but Gray got up first.  He ran back the car and kneed out a headlight, then dodged around to the passenger side to yank off the other windshield wiper.

“Dude, stop it with my car.  Fight like a man!” Dante shouted as he ran around the front of the car. Gray was faster as he zipped around the tail end.  It paid to be lighter and faster on your feet sometimes.

“I’m fighting like I want to fight—if you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have jumped into my ring, Rocky,” Gray said, breathing hard. 

Dante’s face burned as he charged around the backside of the car, but Gray gave him a quick right jab to the kisser and he fell back against the trunk. 

Gray sprinted to the driver’s door.  “Is that what you meant by fighting like a man?” he asked with a laugh as he shouldered the window hard.  It took a couple of pushes, but it finally shattered and he pushed it in.  This was freaking fun and he was on fire.

“Oh, fuck—uncle, dude—uncle!” he squealed, when Gray picked up a wiper and leaned inside the window to stab it into his leather seat.

“Oh, no—I still need you to help pay for the limo.  And the fucking helicopter fuel, and the laptop, and my clothes.” Gray was so high on adrenaline, he felt like he did the night at the warehouse. He leaned back out of the window and took a minute to catch his breath, which gave Dante an opening. 

Out of left field, his fist slammed into Gray’s jaw and it rocked from side to side. He went airborne, landed with a painful thud in the dirt and his ears rang. He laid there for a second, banging it with the heel of his hand until it stopped.

Large feet in steel-toed combat boots showed up by his nose. “Are we done yet?  Or would you like to continue to assault my car?” Dante asked, gasping for breath.

Gray licked his teeth to see if any were missing, then sat up to huff a breath.

“Are you done yet? You came here to kick my ass. I wouldn’t want you to leave disappointed with only the black eye and a trashed car to show for it.”

“And a possibly broken rib,” Dante added, with a groan as he clutched his rib cage.  “But you got the worse end of the deal. You look like you ran into a brick wall with your face, which is exactly what you will tell my sister when you see her.”

Gray swiped his wrist over his split lip and it came away bloody. 

“I’m not going anywhere near that woman,” he said, his face sobering.  “Mickie doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say. I’m dead to her and more afraid of her and her purse than I am of you.”

You’re dead to me.  Gray’s stomach rolled as he got to his feet.  Those fucking words he heard every time it got quiet.  Well, she wasn’t dead to him, she was a thorn in his heart now, as much as she had been a thorn in his ass at the beach house. But Gray was going to remove that thorn, if it killed him.  He had to, if he ever expected to get over her.

“She’s been crying for a month.  My mother is worried about her, so you will come back to Ducktown with me and apologize.  Or are you a welcher as well as a coward?”

“Welcher?” Gray repeated, his eyebrows crashing together.

“So you admit to the coward part?” Dante laughed and shook his head. “We had a deal.  When my sister was exonerated, I was going to kick your ass and you were coming to Jersey to do whatever you had to do to make her accept your apology.  I’m calling in that marker.”

“You said that, I didn’t agree to it,” Gray said, turning toward the office. 

Dante grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, then planted his fist in Gray’s gut.  Every ounce of air in his body left him as he fell to his knees to wheeze and Dante stepped back.  That was definitely a different kind of punch than they traded before, one Gray didn’t want repeated.

“Playtime is over,” Dante said, his voice low and lethal.  “Get your ass inside and pack your bags, or you can go with only that t-shirt on your back, Mr. Dill. Your choice.”

Gray thought about it, and knew if he truly didn’t want to go to New Jersey, he could just walk into that office and Dante wouldn’t follow him.  Her brother hadn’t come here to kick his ass, or he could have very easily.  He’d come here to bring him back, which gave Gray an excuse to see her again.

“You like me don’t you?” Gray asked, his gaze swinging up to Dante as he stood, his stomach still absorbing that punch. 

The desire to see Michaela, to talk to her, had been a driving force inside of him for a month.  But he had totally fucked up and he had a bad feeling an apology wouldn’t be enough. He’d questioned her honesty, insulted her integrity, and he hadn’t trusted her.

“Don’t take it too far, cazzone, or I’ll leave you here.  She likes you, for some unexplainable reason, and that’s what matters.