Page 44 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

I frown at his certainty. “How can you be sure?”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t him.”

I let it go.

I let the entire conversation die. The are other questions but asking them would only bring us back to his family and the place we were. So, I swallow them down and focus on the guy who spent nearly a decade looking for me .

“What if I was married with kids?” I ask.

Dante frowns like he’s deliberating the question. He reaches over and snatches up a fry. Bites into it. Chews. Swallows and answers casually, “Kill him.”

I blink. “You’d kill my husband?”

His eyes are dark, unforgiving pits. “He was never your husband, Leila. He was a placeholder. I’d kill him, fuck you over his dying body then again over his casket.”

My horror manifests into a hot flood of heat between my legs. My nipples tighten under the lace of my bra, and I have to bite my lip to keep from squirming in his lap.

“And my kids?”

He takes another fry. “I don’t hurt children. I would take care of them because they’re yours.” I start to shake my head, amused when he asks, “How would you feel if I was married?”

That kills my humor.

“Why would you get married? I lost my memory. What’s your excuse?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Maybe I stopped looking.”

My eyes narrow even as my temper prickles. “So, you gave up on us?”

Five fingers of restraint close into my jaw, firm and unyielding. “What would you do?”

My molars grind beneath his fingers as I glower into his knowing face .

“I would poison her. Slowly,” I spit out. “So you would have to watch her die in agony.”

His mouth twists up into a dark smirk and he murmurs, “Good girl,” before capturing my lips in a possessive attack.

I’m still frowning when he pulls back, my annoyance palpable.

“It’s not the same thing,” I grumble.

Dante chuckles faintly and brushes his lips over mine again. “Maybe, but at least you know why I would kill my placeholder.”

I don’t comment because I do. I get it. The thought of him with another woman is enough to make me forget I’m not a killer but easily could be because of him.

It does dawn on me that I’ve never been this way with another man. True, I’ve never given another man a chance beyond an experimental kiss, but none meant anything to me. If they moved on to other women, it was relief. Not murderous rage.

Not that I’m about to tell him that and feed his ego. Man already knows way too much about me.

Instead, I force myself to take a deep breath and let it go.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

His brows pull together in disbelief. “Turtle racing.”

I blink. “What? ”

“A few years back, your non-brother won a ribbon for some turtle—”

“Oh my God, Mud Pie!”

Dante grins. “One of my clients sent me the link to some small-town fundraising thing to save turtles and...” his voice drops, “there you were. Standing next to him and a very confused turtle holding a blue, first place ribbon.”

I give a laugh. “I can’t believe Mud Pie is the reason you found me.”

“Me neither. I thought I was seeing things. But I stared at that photo so long, I can describe every detail of it.”

I perch my head on his shoulder, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “I’ll have you get him a whole head of lettuce the next time I go over.” I poke my head up to peer at him. “They stopped the turtle races. The TLG decided it was the gateway to gambling.”

His eyebrow lifts. “TLG?”

“The Lady’s Tea Garden. The Garden gnomes.”

He snorts. “They are a weird bunch. Definitely should be studied.”

Neither of us move for several minutes while we finish eating our lunch and go over the rest of the evening. The consensus is going home to make supper and watch a movie.

“I vote Halloween,” I declare, and get an eye roll .

“I figured. You’d make us watch them every night in order leading up to Halloween every year.”

I take the opening. “Speaking of Halloween...”

He flicks my nose lightly. “No, you’re just going to have to wait. But,” he adds when I sulk. “I have your costume ready for you.”

I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since arriving in Jefferson. That’s a kid thing or if you’re running the festival. I have no doubt I’m going to really enjoy whatever he has planned.

“Can I get a hint?”

He kisses the spot he’d flicked. “Soon.”

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We pick dinner up at Holland’s Grocery. All the fixings for a Shepherd’s pie with a side of vegetables.

The thing I notice during our first outing together is the sheer amount of side-eye we keep getting.

The quiet murmurs. It’s expected of Jefferson.

Dante is new and this might be the first time a lot of people are seeing his face.

There’s bound to be some chatter, but I’m still irritated by it .

“What’s their problem?” I grumble, catching sight of Martha Carbo walking past our aisle for the third time.

Dante glances up from the can of corn he’d been surveying. He must have caught sight of the two, round faces peeking out from around the far end because he makes a soft humming sound and declares, “Let’s ask.”

Before I can process his decision or stop him, he’s marching down the aisle, can fisted in his hand like a rock.

“Hey!” he snaps at whoever he finds lurking behind the canned goods. “You need something?”

Oh shit.

Abandoning our cart, I scramble after him and catch him looming over Thelma Walker and Florence Page.

I curse under my breath and rush to touch Dante’s arm. I’m quick to plaster my smile in place as I face the two busybodies.

“Mrs. Page. Mrs. Walker. Hi, how are you?”

“We were fine until this ... brute jumped at us.”

I give a subtle tug of Dante’s arm, urging him back so he’s mildly less threatening.

“He’s just a little overly friendly,” I assure them.

“Oh, we’ve heard,” Thelma squeaks, eyeing Dante the way one would a snake at a picnic.

“The whole town knows,” Florence adds.

I will my face not to slip into a grimace. “He means well. ”

“Certainly didn’t mean well with Dolores,” Thelma mutters, and gets a bony elbow in the side by Florence.

“Not that she didn’t deserve it,” the other woman rushes in as if to appease the situation.

I’m almost too afraid to ask.

“What happened with Dolores?”

Both women glance immediately towards the figure standing over my shoulder, and now I’m definitely sure I don’t want to.

Still, I shift my attention to the man reading the ingredients on a can of corn with the diligence of a scientist. My lips purse but I keep my cool when returning my focus on the two watching too closely.

“I hope you both have a lovely rest of your evening.”

Without waiting for a response, I pivot on my heels and start back in the direction of our abandoned cart. I can feel Dante moving behind me, following like a child who knows he’s about to get sent to bed without dessert.

Once we’re out of ear shot, I face him, eyebrows raised.

“Dante?”

His breathtaking brown eyes lift and meet mine. “Yeah, baby?”

I resist the urge to shake my head. “Explain yourself. What happened with Dolores? ”

The can is set with the greatest care into the cart before he straightens.

“I had a talk with her. That’s it.”

My eyes narrow. “What kind of talk?”

Rather than shift or look uneasy, my hulk of a man folds his arms and meets my gaze squarely.

“I told her to back off.” His hand comes up when I open my mouth.

“I’m not like these men, Leila. I’m not going to bow to pressure or intimidation.

I sure as fuck won’t let anyone scare you.

That’s my job.” He gives me the ghost of a grin before continuing, “I don’t know how things work in this town .

.. yet, but I’ll be damned if I let some prehistoric mummy tell me how I’m going to live my life.

Let me ask you this: if she had told you to leave me, would you? ”

“No!” I snap before he even finishes.

“Then why would I let that kind of behavior stand? Now, I wasn’t disrespectful. I didn’t yell or cause a scene. I simply told her she needs to mind her business, or I’ll make sure everyone knows hers.”

I’m furious and scared. Both are twin cobras twisting into knots deep inside me, but what comes out is pride.

I’m so fucking proud of him for not giving into the fear the way everyone else does.

I’m proud of him for confronting the situation rather than running or hiding.

Most men in Jefferson — and he was right about this — most men would have cowed under Dolores’s iron fist. Even me.

That’s how people are trained in Jefferson.

Conform or get out.

Still beneath that pride, I’m terrified. My heart is thumping with all the ways Dolores might retaliate. How she might try to take him from me.

“You crazy...” Shaking, I reach for him before I can register my actions. My hand closes across the back of his head and I pull him to me. “You ever do anything that foolish ... that brave...” I kiss him, hard and angry. “I’ll strangle you.”

His arms come around my middle and I’m dragged fully into his chest.

“Getting a lot of mixed signals, but...”

He returns my kiss with a tilt of his head. The attack is hungry and possessive. The urgent demand to match all the coiling emotions running rampant through my system.

“If I lose you again,” I pant into his mouth. “If she fucking takes you from me because you’re a stubborn...”

I bite his lip hard enough to taste the warm copper of his blood. I feel his flinch, hear the low groan, but his hold only tightens.

“Not going anywhere,” he promises.

Tries to, when I force my tongue between his teeth .

The low rumble echoes into my mouth and down my throat to hit every bone in my body. One hand lifts to fist in my ponytail and grips me closer.

“I’m going to fuck you if you don’t stop,” he warns, already shoving me into the shelving lined with cans.

His free hand is bunched in my skirt, waiting for my okay.

I cup his cock.

I fist him hard through the fabric of his pants and jerk him. My lashes lift and I tilt my head back enough to peer up into his face, into the swirling voids staring back into my soul.