Chapter 9 - The Muscle
Kyle rolled down his tinted window, resting an elbow covered in faded prison tattoos on the sill. A lit cigarette dangled from his chapped lips. He looked at me with cold, dead eyes—the kind of look he used to give Megan right before he kicked a hole through their drywall.
"You think you’re real cute, don't you, Claire?" Kyle rasped, smoke curling around his greasy hair. "Flipping out on your own sister, running to the cops like a little schoolgirl."
I stopped ten feet away from my Honda, keeping my hands free, my fingers curling around the pepper spray canister inside my coat pocket.
"What are you doing here, Kyle?" I asked, keeping my voice level. "You have an active restraining order prohibiting you from being within five hundred feet of Megan or her kids. Did she call you to play bodyguard?"
Kyle sneered, blowing a thick gray cloud of smoke toward me. "Megan didn't call me, sweetheart. Your old man did. Richard paid me five hundred bucks in cash this morning to make sure you understand how the real world works."
My stomach gave a sick, violent lurch.
My father hadn't just committed fraud. He was now hiring an abusive, convicted felon to intimidate his own daughter.
"Richard is going to prison, Kyle," I said, looking directly into his sunken eyes. "And if you follow me, touch my car, or step onto my street, you’re going right back to the Ross County Correctional Institution for a parole violation."
Kyle’s smile vanished. His face twisted into pure, predatory venom. He tapped the ashes of his cigarette onto the pavement.
"We’ll see who goes to prison first, little girl," he muttered. "You sleep with one eye open in that big, pretty house of yours."
He threw the Impala into reverse, tires screeching across the asphalt, and sped out of the corporate park onto the main boulevard.
My hands were trembling so hard I dropped my keys on the pavement. I knelt down, picked them up, and got inside my car, locking the doors immediately.
I dialed Nathan’s direct line with shaking fingers.
"Nathan," I gasped into the phone. "Kyle just cornered me in my office parking lot."
"Kyle? Megan’s ex? The one on probation for aggravated assault?" Nathan’s voice turned deadly sharp.
"Yes. He said my father paid him five hundred dollars cash this morning to 'handle' me."
"Holy shit," Nathan muttered. "Claire, listen to me very carefully. Do not go home."
"What? Why?"
"Because the process servers just served Richard and Megan at their house twenty minutes ago," Nathan said. "The emergency restraining order was granted by Judge Harrington. Richard went completely ballistic. He threw the papers in the server’s face and stormed off in his truck. If he hired Kyle, they might be heading to your property right now."
"Nathan, my security cameras," I said, pulling up the Ring app on my dashboard mount.
The screen refreshed.
A red notification popped up: **Motion Detected at Front Driveway - 2 Minutes Ago.**
I tapped the live view.
The dark Chevy Impala was parked sideways in my driveway, blocking the garage.
May you like
Kyle was standing on my porch with an iron crowbar in his right hand. And behind him, walking across my torn-up lawn with a heavy red plastic gas can, was my father.
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