Thank God he was alone, because if anybody had witnessed that little outburst he’d have been carted off to the nearest mental facility. “Fuck!” he bellowed to the empty room, spinning in a complete circle, gripping his phone in his hand and punching his fist through the air. Kellus shoved his fingers through his hair to help push the long strands out of his eyes. “I deal with him and it won’t end well.” The line went dead. The harsh laugh on the other end of the line held what might have been genuine amusement. “You give him that shit, you deal with him.” His chest bowed in defiance as if the guy on the other end of the phone were right there in his darkened bedroom. “No,” he said firmly as he stood tall and fisted his free hand at his side. “Come get him.” A deep masculine voice with a Spanish accent had him pulling the phone from his ear to look down at the screen in confusion. “What?” he shouted as he connected the call. Who else would call in the middle of the fucking night? Palming the device, he glared at the caller ID. He marched to his laundry basket by the bedroom door and began tearing through the clothes to find the stupid phone, no doubt still inside his paint-spattered coveralls where he’d dropped it not fifty-three minutes ago before he’d finally managed to crawl into bed. With a vengeance, he zeroed in on the location of the noise. He was fucking tired-tired of his fucked-up life and tired of this motherfucker who wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. Kellus threw the covers away from his body and darted off the bed, angrier than he’d been in a very long time.

What had to be a mere second later, the ringing started again. His exhausted state gave a solid thumbs-up on the plan, and he easily drifted back to sleep. He tucked a soft pillow into his side and decided he’d deal with that call in the morning. “Fuck,” he growled out, turning over again. He’d been asleep less than an hour after working the fifteen before on the pieces he had due for the art gallery opening. He collapsed back to the bed with an annoyed groan. Seriously? Nothing good could come from a call that time of night. He cracked an eyelid and lifted his head enough to look over at the alarm clock. By the time his exhausted sleep-hazed brain identified the phone wasn’t anywhere around him, he heard the chirp indicating a voice mail.

When he came up empty handed, he managed to turn the other way and do the same. The shrill ring of his phone should have startled him awake, but Kellus Hardin was just too damn tired to do much more than roll in the direction of the irritating sound and throw a hand out to half-ass search around his mattress for the device.

Texas Pride by Kindle Alexander