Chapter 10
JJ
“The time to kill a snake is when he raises his head.”
~ Grandma Dixie
“What the fuck, JJ!?” Brady yelled as his arms flailed around.
“Don’t ever touch her or talk to her again. Do you hear me?” I spoke clearly and calmly as I shoved my forearm under Brady’s chin, cutting off his airway. “Stay away from her.”
“She…kneed…me…in…the balls,” he managed to cough out.
“I don’t care what she did.” The fact that this pussy was trying to make an excuse, any excuse, for putting his hands on a woman and calling her a bitch caused the rage I’d already been feeling to multiply by a hundred. Pressing harder against his throat, I repeated, “Stay away from her.”
Brady nodded once, and I was about to let him go when arms wrapped around me and pulled me back. Before I even turned around, I knew who it was. Not only because there weren’t that many people with that kind of strength, but also because I’d been in enough chokeholds from Sawyer when we were kids that there was no mistaking them.
“Get off me.” I jerked out of his hold, which he’d released me from. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been going anywhere.
“I’m pressing charges!” Brady yelled as he grabbed at his throat and coughed dramatically. “You’re going to jail. Do you know how many witnesses I have?! I’m going to get every dime you’ve ever made and your fucking World Series rings. And I’m going to fuck Destiny while I’m wearing them.”
I lunged forward, but Destiny managed to get between us, stopping me in my tracks, as she spoke loudly.
“Fine,” she said. “If you’re pressing charges, then so am I.”
“For what?” Brady said, outraged, before he spit on the ground.
“For harassment. And not just for today. You’ve been showing up at my job, my apartment, texting me, calling me, for months after I have repeatedly told you that I wasn’t interested. Do you know how many witnesses I have?”
Fear filled Brady’s eyes, which told me two things. One, he was even more of a pussy than I had originally thought. And, two, this piece of shit had been harassing Destiny for months.
I was going to kill him.
“What’s the problem here, boys?” Sheriff Reed asked as he stepped up through the crowd. He was in plain clothes, so he was off duty, but make no mistake—he had his ‘official’ voice on.
Destiny and I both looked at Brady.
After spitting to the side again, he sniffed and puffed out his chest, “Nothin’. Just a misunderstanding.”
Sheriff Reed stared him down and Brady’s gaze shot to the ground. The sheriff scanned mine next. I stared back at him, unwavering.
After a few beats, he turned to Destiny and asked, “Is that right? Was this just a misunderstanding?”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he slapped Brady on the shoulder. I almost laughed when Brady winced in pain.
“All right, then. Why don’t you and I go on down to the ropin’ contest?” Without waiting for a response, he squeezed Brady’s shoulder and started walking him down towards the stables.
“You all right?” Sawyer asked.
My head dipped in a sharp nod, and without another word, my brother walked away. The rest of the small group that had gathered followed suit, leaving Destiny and me in as much privacy as we could get in a crowded festival.
When her eyes met mine, I saw a sea of emotion raging behind her expressive baby blues, but I had no idea which direction the tide was going.
“Why didn’t you tell me Brady had been stalking you?” It might not have been the best question to ask, but it was the one I wanted answered right now.
At least I no longer had a question as to what was going on behind her eyes. Now, anger filled her gorgeous gaze.
“Are you seriously asking me that?!”
“He’s an asshole, why the hell did you let this shit go on so long?”
“Who do you think you are? You show up yesterday and you think you have the right to know anything about my life?”
Knowing she had a valid point, I remained silent.
Inhaling deeply through her nose, her chest rose her pushing ample cleavage up over her tank top. “Not to mention that you’re no better. You sat at my job for four hours yesterday until I finished my shift and then later followed me to the shed.”
Keeping my eyes above her neckline, I countered, “That’s not the same thing.”
“Really?” She let out a forced laugh. “How is that not the same thing?”
Leaning down and lowering my voice so only she could hear, I whispered, “Did Brady have his hand up your skirt and make you come so hard your eyes rolled back in your head last night?”
I hadn’t been trying to invoke her trademark lip-purse, head-tilt, nose twitch move, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t pleased as punch when those things happened. Destiny was madder than a wet hen and cuter than hell. The corner of my lips pulled up.
I might not have known exactly what she was thinking, but I did know one thing that was going on in that complicated mind of hers. “You’re spell-cussing me out in your head right now, aren’t you?”
Her mouth fell open. “How did you—”
“I know you, Destiny. Better than you think.”
I only knew that because I had overheard her confessing it to Harmony and Cara one night when the girls, about thirteen, had gotten into my parents’ hard liquor. She’d said that she couldn’t bring herself to say cuss words, even in her head, but she would spell them out. At the time, I’d thought it was the most adorable thing I’d ever heard. Still did.
“But…” She shook her head. “There’s no way that you could know—”
“Don’t you need to get back to your booth?” I nodded towards her sweet teas. This was not a conversation I wanted to have with her in the middle of the Fourth of July festival.
“My wha—oh my gosh! Tami Lynn.” Without another word, she sprinted back towards her booth.
As I enjoyed the view of her jogging in Daisy Dukes, someone called my name. When I turned around, Trace was walking towards me, holding his phone out.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
On the screen was a poorly shot video of the drama that had just played out.
Shit.
“Where did you get that?”
“It’s on the Wishing Well Facebook page. It already has over a thousand views.”
Double shit.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see the number of my PR firm, SBC.
“Hey, Jessie,” I answered.
“TMZ just contacted me with a video they are uploading as we speak.”
That’s what I loved about my publicist, Jessie Sloan. She was no-nonsense. No small talk. She cut right to the chase.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Keep your phone on you. I’ll e-mail you when I have a statement put together.”
“All right.” Then the phone disconnected.
That was the other thing I loved about Jessie. She never flipped out, never lectured—she just did her job. Honestly, if I hadn’t been head-over-heels in love and she hadn’t been married to one of the few people in the world who could kick my ass, the reigning lightweight boxing champion, I’d think she might be the one.
But that role in my life was already taken by a feisty redhead who silently spell-cussed in her mind.