It had been two days and he was still terrified of what had nearly been the death of him. The fucking place had lit up like a fucking Christmas tree the moment he’d made the first hole. And who fucking knew there was so much more involved in the shit he’d stolen than turning it on and putting it to the wall? He’d been nearly knocked on his ass the moment the thing had been turned on. He glared at the bruise on his arm. And the fucking thing had thrown him against the wall as if he wasn’t a grown man. He moved to the couch to lie down again. His head, where the wall had hit him, was still throbbing. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing, not a fucking thing. “They’re fucking with me, I just know it.” He covered his eyes with his arm as he contemplated what he needed to do next. “First the old man and now his fucking building.” “You should have hired someone to go in and do the grunt work.” He nearly squealed when Mary spoke. He’d been so pissed he’d forgotten he’d asked her to come and see to his arm.
