Worth It (Forbidden Men #6)

Worth It (Forbidden Men #6) Page 15

But the other guy caught hold of the back of Scarface’s shirt, halting him. “Whoa, hey,” he cajoled easily “Maybe we should, I don’t know, ask him why he has Zoey’s car before pounding his face in.”

“The fuck with that. He just called me a dick.”

“No, actually he said you looked like one, not that you were one.” Then tattoo guy grinned at me. “He really is a dick, though.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Scarface sent Tattoo a glare before shoving him away and spinning back to me. “What’re you doing with Blondie’s car?”

I blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Zoey,” he growled before his friend jostled him quiet and added to me, “The girl who owns it.”

I nodded. Zoey equaled Blondie. Got it. “She was...having some trouble,” I explained, not sure how much I could trust with these people. “I drove her to the hospital, but there was blood, so...I took her ride to the car wash to clean it.”

My answer seemed to take both men by surprise.

“Blood?” Scarface made a hoarse gasp. Then his face drained of color, which made his scars stand out starker. “There was blood? Like...a lot of blood?”

I nodded, and he blew out a long breath before pacing in a circle and running his hands through his hair. “Shit,” he mumbled, while the second man clasped his hands as if in prayer and pressed them against his mouth.

Their worry let me know Zoey Hamilton must be close to them. So I pulled her car keys from my pocket. “Do you know how I can get these back to her or her husband?”

Scarface snatched them from my hand and unlocked the car before ripping the door open and peering inside. “I don’t see any blood.”

I ground my teeth. “I just told you; I cleaned it.”

He sent me an irritable glance over his shoulder before returning his attention back to the interior as if to make sure nothing was missing.

Asshole.

“Why did you have her car in the first place?” He yanked his head from the inside and slammed the door. “How do you even know Blondie, and what the fuck were you doing with her?”

I arched a brow, silently letting him know he needed to back off. I hadn’t survived over half a decade of hard time without learning a couple intimidation tactics.

My stare seemed to work because he edged a physical step back, and his friend quickly interceded. “What Ten meant to say was, ‘How did you come across Zoey in the first place?’ She was supposed to be home on bed rest.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” I sighed and popped my neck. I was used to answering suspicion-filled questions, but I’d never really learned to ignore the irritation that always came with them. “Look, I was standing in a convenience store parking lot when this car came out of nowhere and almost clipped me. After it parked and...Zoey—I guess her name is—got out, I could tell she was in distress, so I put her in the passenger seat and drove her to the hospital. On the way, she told me she’d broken her bed rest to get her husband a birthday present for this weekend. Once I got her here, everyone rushed her inside to take care of her while her car was just sitting there, the doors wide open and blood everywhere. So...I took it to get it cleaned.”

“You mean, you just...cleaned a complete stranger’s car out of the goodness of your heart?”

I glared at Scarface, almost tempted to ask if he wanted another scar added to the collection. “She didn’t seem like she was in any shape to clean it herself, and I had nothing better to do.”

Scarface opened his mouth, scowling back, but Tattoo thumped him on the back of the head to hush him. “Well, thanks, man,” he said with a respectful nod to me. “We really appreciate it. How much do we owe you?”

I waved my hand and took a leery step back. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“You sure?” He stuck out his palm to shake with me. “What’s your name?”

I paused, before taking his fingers and mumbling, “Knox Parker.”

His grip tightened in mine before he jerked his head back to gape at me. “Holy shit.” He squinted and studied me intently before he tipped his head to the side. “You look totally different.” Then he smiled. “I’m Pick Ryan. You were a couple years behind me in school.”

Remembering him, I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“This is my friend, Ten. But don’t mind him; his bark is bigger than his bite.”

“Hey, fuck you, man.”

As Ten scowled at him, grumbling more complaints under his breath, Pick kept his intent gaze on me, until his inspection turned into a slight frown. “Last I heard, you were still in prison.”