Page 25 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

LEILA

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I’m not jealous.

I have no reason to be.

I told him to leave me alone.

I want him to leave me alone.

I’m not at all bitter or pissed watching him practically let Felicity Sutton climb into his lap. I don’t care in the least that she’s nestled into his side, pretty face tipped back on his shoulder, peering up at him with her soft smile.

Fuck them both.

“Leila?”

The interrupting voice has my messy thoughts scattering. It distorts the image of running a clean, red line across the smooth column of her exposed throat. I can already feel the way her soft strands would feel gripped in my fist as I drag her head back and...

I blink and focus on the man watching me from across my counter. I hate him by default. Not for interrupting my vivid fantasy of slaughtering his sister like a prized pig, but because he’s darkening my space with his presence .

He brought Felicity.

There’s no other reason why she would be rubbing herself like a cat in heat all over my .

.. I catch myself. Recalibrate my thoughts.

Remind myself I’m not crazy. The image of slicing her open and letting her blood run free down that cute sweater doesn’t stir something deep and primal inside me. Something I try very hard to contain.

“Sorry, Jasper.” I will a smile I know is tight and slightly vicious as I slide over his receipt slip. “I think it must be time for lunch. I’m getting distracted.”

He offers me an understanding little smile that almost makes me feel bad for wanting to kill his sister.

That’s a lie.

No regrets.

Bitch needs to get smeared by a semi.

Calm down, Leila. You psychopath.

This is his fault. I never had homicidal thoughts over a man before.

My life was fine and simple before he rolled in on his stupid bike.

He’s the one toying with my sanity, testing my boundaries and making me question myself.

Before him, my life was so uncomplicated and never filled with daydreams of ripping out another woman’s esophagus.

It’s deliberate .

It has to be. He’s testing me. Trying to make me jealous. He’s intentionally worming into my head. He thinks if I see him getting cozy with another woman, I’ll forget my request to see his face and come crawling back.

The joke’s on him.

He seems to think he’s the only guy who can crawl under my skin and make me feel ... anything. Well, he is, but he doesn’t know that. I used to get guys asking me out all the time. It only stopped when I kept turning them down.

Jasper was one of them.

I even considered him a mild possibility because he really is a sweet guy, comes from a good family, and ... makes me feel absolutely nothing, but that isn’t the point.

“Do you want to grab a sandwich from the bakery ... with me?” I hear myself blurt before I can second guess my decision.

Brown eyes blink from a classically handsome face. Not exactly rugged and sharp, but soft and round, topped with a neatly trimmed cap of light gold. A hand springs up and he scratches at the back of his neck, and I think I’m about to get turned down.

“Yeah, I ... that sounds great.”

I don’t give him, or myself the chance to chicken out. I already have my purse snatched out of the bottom drawer of the desk, my keys fisted between my fingers. Even to my own ears, the slap of my flats echo loudly in the still silence as I march to the door.

I’m not trying to prove a point.

I am not trying to show him that I can also move on. His opinion doesn’t ... goddamn it. He’s put his condom jar on the hood of my car. The beige tote mocks me from across the street. The handles neatly bundled into a bow like some weird gift.

And it is weird, right?

Who just leaves someone an entire jar of used condoms? Not even a small jar. It was an industrial jar used in restaurants. Bulk pickles, or whatever used to be inside. It would take months to fill to capacity. Every day, if not multiple times a day.

“I think about you a lot.”

His words from earlier sends a warm tingle scuttling down my spine. A giddy sensation a normal person would get over receiving a dozen roses. It’s stupid because this shouldn’t be cute. It’s weird, stalker behavior. And a biohazard.

Worse still, each condom had neatly written dates in black Sharpie.

I had to look closely to spot the smudged and faded scripture along each knotted bubble.

He apparently has no preference for brands because there were an assortment of colors.

Some were even fancy with ribs, barbs and textures.

I may have sat in my car for longer than was necessary, examining each one .

Not out of the jar. I can’t even imagine what the stench would be like.

Still, I wasn’t nearly as horrified as I should have been.

I wasn’t disgusted. I waited. I waited for the feelings to come, to surface from beneath my surprise, but I was amused — initially.

I studied his efforts with a snort of laughter and a shake of my head before annoyance kicked in.

Did he honestly think he could win me over that easily? I told him what it would take to keep me and his response was another gift I don’t understand. The cryptic messages are only further confusing me and messing with my head. It only fuels the voice insisting he’s fucking with me.

Now, he’s flaunting another woman right in front of me because I put my foot down.

Well, I can also play this game.

Jasper pushes the door open and holds it for me to join him on the sidewalk. I do so and offer him a smile as I reach to lock up. My keys are abnormally loud in the steady rush of traffic. They jingle like bells between my ears. Made louder by the sound of Jasper shouting his sister’s name.

“We’re going to the bakery to get lunch,” he tells her, but I am too focused on the helmet covered head turning in my direction.

Even if I couldn’t see him in the sheet of glass, even if I wasn’t watching him, the weight of his eyes slams between my shoulder blades. It hones in with a silent scrutiny I’m not prepared for.

He’s pissed.

I don’t need to see his face to feel the ripple of heat practically washing across the entire block. It’s in the rigid posture of his spine. The curling of his fingers in their leather confines. He’s no longer seated but braced on both feet like he’s ready to swing off and march over.

I tell myself I’m not pleased by his reaction. That it isn’t pleasure coursing through me, but disinterest. I even avoid glancing in his direction when facing Jasper with my best smile.

He returns it and offers me his elbow, which takes me momentarily by surprise, but immediately fills me with a sprinkling of dread.

Touching him was not part of the plan. Hell, I don’t even want to but refusing him would only comfort the biker and I don’t want to comfort him when he all but let Felicity give him a lap dance in the middle of the street.

Without batting an eye, I slip my hand through the crook. The suede fabric of his coat sleeve feels soft and warm beneath my fingers. The back of my hand settles against his ribs, pinned into place with a firmness that is off putting .

I feel like a child holding the hand of a parent. Like he’s worried I might get lost in the crowd. It’s taking all my efforts not to yank free and bolt back into the bank.

Instead, I let him guide us along the flow of pedestrians in the direction of Maisie’s with the heat of an open flame licking the back of my neck.

“You have something on your car,” Jasper is saying when I pull my attention back to him. “Did you forget your bag?”

Despite my best attempts, I find my attention jumping to the jar before I glance away. “Oh, it’s fine.”

He nods slowly like he’s digesting my response before offering kindly, “Did you want to run over and grab it?”

I shake my head. “I’ll grab it later.”

If he doesn’t take it back, I muse, a bit sadly. There’s a good chance that I may have pissed him off enough that he takes his gift and leaves.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Are you attending the festival next weekend?”

I return my focus to the man at my side and try to forget the one I’m walking away from. “I haven’t honestly decided. Most likely.”

“My dad has been getting the trailer ready all week for the hayrides.”

He’s talking. Saying something about wanting to ask me out for coffee but not being sure. Part of me feels bad for using him like this. It’s not his fault my life has become a whole mess. He’s definitely not to blame for my brokenness. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The bell tinkles over Maisie’s bakery. It muffles the soft flow of conversation and the creaky wheeze of the fan spinning overhead. The blades spin the sweet scent of honey and coffee, making my already nervous stomach churn.

Don’t get me wrong. I love honey and coffee, but someone could hand me an all you can eat coupon for Mama May’s deep fried chicken and my gut would still feel off.

The anxious gnawing is distracting me from reading the sandwich menu. The board keeps fading behind my distracted thoughts.

When Jasper settles a gentle palm on my lower back to guide me forward, I nearly want to stab him. But I’m weapons free and in public. Best I can do is tug away from him and pretend I’m fascinated by the baked goods behind the glass.

“Hey, guys.” Maisie glances from me to Jasper with her pretty smile. “Here for lunch?”

Jasper nods, but glances at me to start.

I pick the first item my gaze lands on — chicken ranch on sourdough bread.

Maisie taps that into her computer and turns to Jasper who takes a million years to pick a tuna melt .

“Anything to drink?”

I don’t get a chance to answer when my attention is captured by the aggressive clamor of bells. The door swings wide to smack into the wall. It turns a few heads, but none faster than mine.

I fully expect to see my biker darkening the threshold, powerful build blocking the light as he storms over, snatches me from Jasper and...

Not biker man.