Page 9 of Reese’s Protection

“Yes?” I said into the phone, eyes still glued to all that pale, tattooed skin.

“Do you think I should call the police?” Layton huffed.

Cringing, I glanced around the room. That wasn’t something I generally did for any reason. “I guess you’ll have to. You’re renting that place, and you’ll need a police report to get the rental insurance to fix whatever the hell the problem is.”

“Do you think Jeremy might still be inside?” The fear that snuck into Layton’s tone lit a fire under my ass.

“Go get dressed,” I said to Reese. “Your jeans are in the dryer off the kitchen.” I nodded that direction.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Pure mischief leaked into Layton’s words, and if he was here, he’d be flashing a megawatt smile. “Why does Reese need to get dressed? What is going on there?”

“He had an accident.”

“He’s covered in cum, isn’t he?” Layton cackled.

I sputtered while he laughed like a jackass. “Why on earth would you say that? What’s wrong with you?” I glanced all around, but Reese had taken off to do as I’d told him, thank God. “Hot chocolate, okay? He spilled hot chocolate. On his pants.”

“Uh huh.”

“You better say nothing about this when I get there. He had a bad night, and you’re not going to make it worse.” I let every drop of my authority as his older brother ooze into the command.

He snorted. “You’re coming here?” he said, sounding both puzzled and relieved at the same time.

“Yes, so don’t you dare go into that apartment. And call the cops.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll see you when⁠—”

“Stay on the line. Like hell you’re hanging up. What if he’s waiting for that?”

He growled. “I never should’ve called you. How are you going to drive the bike while you have the phone pressed to your ear?” There was a noise on the other end, and I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but there was a clink.

“Damn it, stay out of that apartment. I’m going to take the truck.”

Reese sprinted into the living room, and I handed the phone to him. I was sad to see that he had his jeans on again; although, he did have on my black T-shirt that read “Guillermo the Vampire Slayer” on the front in vibrant blue-and-pink letters. I’d given it to him earlier, but it gave me a warm tingle that he was choosing to wear it.

“What happened?” Reese demanded, directing a ton of anxiety toward the phone.

“Do not end the call.” I grabbed him by the hand, made a pit stop to bundle him up in my leather coat, then dragged him outside. I rarely locked my door, but tonight I did.

Reese let me lead him along to the side of the garage where I kept my Ford truck parked. It was about twenty years old and in need of some repairs—not to mention the paint job was an orange that I wasn’t sure had been popular when the truck was new—but it ran and could haul wood, which was all that mattered.

I opened the door for him. “In!”

He nodded, and I gave him a hand up because he had to use the step and hop onto the seat. Clearly, Layton was regaling him with the tale of the discovery of whatever the hell that asshole had done.

Reese and Layton bullshitted during the drive to Layton’s apartment, and I stopped the truck with a screech outside his place. It was about four o’clock in the morning by the time we arrived, and I pulled the truck in behind Layton’s car. My brother stood under a streetlight at the end of the sidewalk, shoulder leaned against the steel pole, shivering in a red tank top and black jeans.

“Oh my God!” Reese hopped out and tossed my phone over his shoulder. I barely caught it in time to save the screen from getting cracked. With a grumble, I shoved it into my pocket and shot out of the truck. Reese had his arms around Layton by the time I reached them. I left them to their reunion, stomping toward the first-floor apartment in the low-rent duplex. Pink paint was peeling off the wooden siding in ribbons, and it had needed an overhaul about thirty years ago. The area wasn’t terrible, though.

“Your neighbor didn’t hear anything?” I asked, pointing at the dark apartment above.

“No, she uses hearing aids and doesn’t wear them at night. Usually, that works out great for both of us.” He shrugged, and anger slapped me as I took a walk around the building. Every single fucking window was smashed in, and it was a cold fucking night. When I got around front, I huffed out a sigh. “You can’t stay here, Layton.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going back to your place! I have work in the morning.” Layton put his hands on his hips and was gearing up to dig his heels in like an asshole. He came by that naturally.

“Did you call the cops yet?”

“How could I? You made Reese stay on the line.” He held up his phone and pursed his lips.