Chapter Sixteen

Tank

“Hey, Tank, did you know someone is cleaning up out front?” Rance takes the pot from the coffee machine as I sit more upright on the stool at the breakfast bar.

“No, I didn’t. Who is it?”

“No idea. But your neighbour, Rose, and some guy are standing out by the mailbox.”

“You’re kidding?” I take the last mouthful of my own coffee.

“Nope. Kid ready for school yet?”

“In his room,” I reply as Rance screws the cap back onto the canister he poured the coffee into.

“All right. See you later then?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, how’s Tessa?”

“Good. She slept yesterday away, but she’s been up this morning and had some coffee.”

“Good news.”

“It is.”

“All right, better get this kid to hurry up or he’ll be late.”

“Sounds good.”

Sliding off the stool, I decide it’s probably best to go find out what’s happening in front of the house. But first, I make my way upstairs and slip on a pair of rugby shorts and a white T-shirt. Better make myself somewhat decent.

He’s wearing a baseball cap and long blue coveralls as he places empty beer bottles and other discarded garbage into a bin on wheels he pulls behind him. He looks at me but doesn’t come over, instead opting to carry on with the clean-up. The questions I have are who is he, and who instructed him to come complete this job in the first place?

I don’t spot Rose initially as I approach this man, but do so when I hear chatter coming from three-quarters of the way down the drive. Changing direction, I take the small incline on approach, although I’m halted when Slade steps in front of me. Prick!

“Morning.” Be nice, Tank.

“So, I find myself wondering, Mr Crossley, when did you plan to clean up your mess instead of waiting for others to organise it for you? That’s Trevor, by the way.” He points over my shoulder.

I don’t bother to look.

“I asked him to come here and pick up after you.” What a welcoming from that smug bastard.

I don’t oblige him with a reply. “Hi, Rose.”

“Roselette,” she corrects me, fiddling with a hoop hanging from her earlobe.

“Okay. Have a good day.” Turning, I know I should vamoose before I lose my temper and say nothing more.

“Shirking responsibility seems to be your thing.” Slade has it in for me, and I for him.

I want to permanently shut his mouth with my fist. But I won’t.

“Thanks for hiring coveralls,” I say in rotation. I glare at Slade’s smug-looking face.

“Someone had to get this pigsty tidied. It’s okay, Finlay—the adults took control of the situation for you.”

I shift my attention to Rose, who can’t even gift me her attention. Instead, she keeps her head turned to Slade’s cheek.

“No more parties, you understand?”

Who the hell does he think he is?

“Get off my fucking lawn!” I bark. I’ve had enough.

“Roselette. Get in the car. Do it now.” Slade is dominant in his instruction.

“Yes, sir,” she replies.

Yes, sir. What the fuck?

“Stay where you are, Rose,” I command.

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she shuffles in a tight black dress towards the black SUV parked just off the road.

“You don’t get to instruct her to do anything. She’s mine. My property, my fiancée … mine. You understand?” Slade’s finger dances as he outstretches it in my direction.

This instantly makes me wild, and is probably the reason for my forceful march towards him and the left hook I connect to his face.

“Fuck!” he shouts when his arse hits the ground.

“Get off my fucking property. Understand?” I growl.

“Let’s go, arsehole.” Slade finds his feet and spits blood from the corner of his mouth.

I take not a second to use my right fist to punch him once more. This time, he doesn’t fall down, but stumbles backwards.

“Stop!” Rose yells.

I search for her. Slade charges at me, knocking me down with heavy force. The bang of my head to the concrete is more than a sting, but I don’t let the instant throb bother me. I spring back onto my feet.

“STOP!” Rose claws at Slade’s arm, and at first he just shrugs her off, but as her desperation grows he has no qualms in shoving her away.

I gasp when Rose falls down. “Shit.” I rush towards her.

“Mind your own business.” Slade is a man with an agenda, and he’s the type who loses to nobody. “Roselette. Get in the car.” His bark is as bad as his bite, and he doesn’t waste a minute more before coming at me again.

“Back off, Slade. She’s hurt,” I barge past him. “Are you okay, Rose?” I offer her my hand.

“Go away.” She’s sobbing.

“Are you hurt?” My heart is racing, my stomach awash with unease.

“Finlay. Go.” She’s mad. “Watch out,” she shouts as my knees buckle and I’m brought down from behind.

Each kick to my ribs is painful. Using my hands to shelter my face, I curl up and take one blow after another.

“Get off him, Slade!” Rose is screaming.

“Shut up, bitch.” He’s a man possessed with a desire to kick my arse. He’s doing a good job of it.

I hear a slapping sound, and I’m fearful as to where it landed. Rose cries out—it’s such a painful cry. Adrenaline rushes with my increased pulse and I stretch my arm wide enough to grip Slade’s ankle and rip him down. Sitting on his chest, I pull back my clenched fist, but before I release my attack, Rose whispers, “Please stop.”

I do with clenched teeth as I pant excessively, trying to rein back my fury.

“Get off him, please.” She sniffles.

Standing, I see Rose’s slapped red cheek and tear-stained makeup, and I’m instantly overcome with sorrow for her.

“Go. Finlay, go.”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Please.” She’s begging me.

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Get in the car, Roselette, now.” Demanding tone is an understatement. Slade is a control freak.

Rose presses her chin to her chest and heads straight to the car.

“Keep this place clean from now on,” Slade spits, shoving into my chest … stumbling away. He then climbs into the driver’s side of the SUV.

What the fuck just happened?