Wicked Company

Chapter Thirty-Eight

~ Daniella's POV ~
~ Present Day ~

"I'm confused."

"Of course, you are." I rolled my eyes at Hawkins and leaned back in my chair, strumming my fingertips along the rusted, chipping metal table.

"Hilarious," he mocked with narrowed eyes. "You're obnoxious. Anyways, if Tucker said he was done with Albert Bancroft, what in hell happened to put us here today? Because I can sure as fuck think of better things to be doing at home than babysitting your annoying ass here in California."

I snorted. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even have a social life. How anyone puts up with your grouchy, domineering ass is beyond me." Liam opened his mouth for a witty retort, but I cut him off as always. "Miles I can understand. He's sweet and smart, so the spicy is that added bonus. But you," I grimaced when my gaze shifted back to Liam, "well. You're like a bag of bricks all jacked up on pre-workout and protein powder... nice to have in a fight, but otherwise clunky and annoying when you stub your toe on it."

Miles coughed a laugh and covered his face in his hands, losing all sense of the professionalism he'd tried to show all day. When Hawkins growled at his side, Miles slapped him on the shoulder and shook him until his frown loosened.

"Tucker was done, so how about you fuckheads go out there and let him go. It was me. I wasn't done with Bancroft. I might've gotten a little distracted the last few years, because when the dick's that good..." I shrugged. "Sue me, okay? I'm human and Tucker's fucking hot. Don't get me wrong, I never forgot what happened to my uncle or what kind of man Bancroft is, but I did loosen my scheming a lot."

"What happened that made you snap?" Miles leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table, his face one of knowledge, not curiosity. He already knew.

I shrugged and locked eyes with Miles, pushing my chair back to balance on the two back legs. When his gaze didn't falter from its patient picture, I gave in with an exaggerated eye roll. Sighing, I let my chair slam back onto the ground, ignoring the jolt it rocked through me.

"A week ago, I got a phone call. The janitor at Albert's company, Javier Ignacio - my uncle's friend - died. Cancer. I didn't even know he was sick..." I cleared my throat and refocused my eyes as they'd started to glaze over. "He couldn't afford the chemo that probably could've saved his life. Call it speculation, or maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he should've had a fighting chance. But because of the fucking asshole he worked for? He didn't."

____________________

~ One week ago ~

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tucker yelled in a garbled voice from the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if Spider-Man was actually anatomically correct, his webs would come out of his ass and not his wrists," I shrugged, shimmying under the covers. "Marvel should've fixed that."

Tucker popped his head out with his mouth agape, then snapped it shut and shook his head before turning the bathroom light off. He made his way to the bed in silence, took a sip of his water on the nightstand, and turned his gaze back to me. It took my best efforts to not laugh at his 'how is this my life' look.

"I'm just saying," I shrugged again.

"Hey, Barbie?"