Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Had she?—

“Richard Prince,” he said easily. And then he hung up the phone, and I sat there staring blankly at the wall for all of two seconds before I was ringing Richard with a fire lit under my ass. Lydia’s ghost hung over me, casting shadows in my head.

How fucking dare he?

Like.

Who does that?

He took my fucking truck—and didn’t tell me?

What…the fuck.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Answer, you dickhead,” I hissed at my phone, pacing my front hall, guitar pick painfully digging in. I was still sweaty from work, still antsy and anxious—the Mutt-sized hole in my apartment glaringly obvious as I panicked.

Ring, ring?—

“This is Richard,” Richard’s low, quiet voice came on the line.

“The fuck is your problem?” I hissed out. My vision was red, my head spinning as I burned holes in the carpet with my feet.

“What?” Richard made a confused sound. “Jeffrey?”

I’d never called him before, so I figured it was fair he was confused.

I was too fucking mad to care right now though.

Distantly I recognized that I was taking my anxiety out on him, but I couldn’t seem to stop. The shaking had begun, and my throat was tight, and I just…I felt so fucking powerless and he?—

Why had he done this?

Why hadn’t he told me?

Was he fucking with me?

“You had my car towed?” I spat. “And you didn’t tell me? The fuck, dude. The actual fuck.”

“Jeffrey—”

“You fucking asshole.” My head wasn’t screwed on straight. Everything hurt, and my thoughts were jumbled. “You saw the fucking tree trunk through the windshield—and you didn’t even see if I was okay? And then you moved the fucking truck—and like.” Oh fuck. There was a pit in my stomach, and my body ached, bruises that were still vivid and dark burning where the seat belt had slammed into me. “Did it ever occur to you that I could be hurt? Or that the truck is the only fucking thing in the world that’s mine—and it maybe means a lot to me?”

“Jeffrey—”

“Why are you messing with me?” My voice broke.

“I’m not,” Richard made a panicked sound, and I felt bad immediately. He was a slow talker. It always took him a bit to figure out what to say, and I wasn’t giving him time to explain himself. But I was just…I was just so mad.

And Mutt wasn’t here—and I’d hoped he would be.

And everything sucked—and I just?—

Does Richard not care about me?

That thought kept playing over and over and over again.

I hadn’t realized till that moment just how upset the idea that Richard didn’t care about me made me feel.