“Weird, bro,” Donnelly said, putting the paper back where he found it. Haphazardly, but still mostly around where he found it.
“No,” Banger said. “You have to move it to where it was, or she’s going to notice. She looks like she has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Things have to be in a certain place. If you move that to a point where she can notice it, she’s going to know someone came into her house.”
My thoughts exactly.
Donnelly did his best to put it back where he thought it went, with an opinion from almost every man sitting at the table watching him walk through the house.
“How do you even know that she won’t be home?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t.” Donnelly shrugged. “Unlike her, I’m not a stalker. I’m just hoping I can get it all done before she gets here.”
“Gotcha.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t play hero, though. If she’s willing to shoot me, and she’s obsessed with me, I’m sure she won’t blink an eye at doing the same to you.”
“Oh, ho, ho, ho!”
Donnelly’s words had me raising my brows at him, but I saw what the excitement was a few seconds later as he fully turned into the living room.
Then there was my face on the mantle. In blown up, I can see every pore in your face, magnified size.
“Wow, that’s a big damn picture of you, bro,” Donnelly jeered. “I can see your nose hairs. I think it’s time for a trim.”
I scrunched up the nose in question.
Banger turned to me and studied my nose. “They are a bit long. This one…” She poked my left nostril. “Is poking out a bit.”
“I hope you just got snot on your finger,” I grumbled, not bothering to take my eyes off of the horror show in front of me.
Because there wasn’t just that one picture.
There were multiple pictures. All over the wall around the fireplace.
“That’s some obsession,” Bram said. “I don’t even know if I have that kind of devotion in anything in my life.”
“Not even that wife you won’t let us talk abo—” Haggard started, but grunted out an, “Ow!” when Bram kicked him.
Haggard started laughing under his breath.
Meanwhile, the horror continued down the hallway.
Photo after photo of me.
Me with Trouper. Me with Trouper’s kids. Me with Beckham. Me with Haggard. Me with Bram. Me with Price and Rook. Me with Donnelly. Me with Hank. Hell, there were even a few of me with the grocery store clerk when I was buying goddamn beer.
So many fuckin’ pictures.
“Damn, do you just have no Spidey senses at all, or are you just that uncaring?” Trouper asked, somewhat pissed.
“That’s not from a phone or a single person following him around,” Banger corrected him, irritation for me clear to hear in her voice. God, I fuckin’ loved that she was defending me. “Those look like they’re security images. Like ones that she grabbed from businesses and such.”
Trouper paused, as if considering the view that all the photos were taken from, and then sighed. “You’re right.”
My brows rose at that admission.
I had no clue where she would’ve gotten that from, however.
The oversized printed photo, which hung in a long rectangle in front of her bed, was definitely of me. And my ass.
“Now that,” Banger said. “I don’t know where she would’ve gotten that. You were…” She squinted as Donnelly got closer to the photo, almost eye level with my ass.
“In a doctor’s office,” he finished for Banger. “Look, you can see the gown you just took off.”
I snapped my fingers as I realized what I was looking at. “I went to the doctor’s office a few weeks ago to check up on my heart. I was having palpitations that they couldn’t explain. Turns out, it was from all the energy drinks I was drinking. I haven’t had any problems since.”