Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m doing this for you, for us, Luxe.”
The nickname had him biting back a sob as he picked up the gloves he’d tossed.
“Why can’t you see that?”
He looked over his shoulder, eyes damp. “All I see is you choosing something that could tear us apart.”
“I love you, Luxe.”
“I love you too.”
He swallowed a sob as he bit his lower lip hard. If something happened to Tate, if Ducky did to him what he’d done to Liam or worse, it would destroy him. He was bigger than him, older, and angrier. Hell, he’d done time, and who knew what he’d learned in those months?
“I’ll be back tonight, okay?”
Liam sniffed and squeezed his eyes together to keep the tears from falling. “Please be careful.” All he wanted was to run to Tate, fall to his knees, and use every dirty trick in the book to make him stay. But it wouldn’t work. The conviction in Tate’s voice told him all he needed to know, so he stayed put, picked up the sponge, and went back to work cleaning the mess.
Tate’s frustrated sigh felt like a battering ram to the heart.
The slam of the truck door, a swift kick to the gut.
And the sound of the engine driving farther away, a door slamming on his happiness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TATE DROVE STRAIGHT to the trailer park, blowing two red lights and plowing over three curbs as he turned like a race car driver. Anger bubbled in his veins hot, dark, and deadly. He shoved the fight with Liam to the back of his mind as one thought reigned.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
Ducky hurt Luxe.
He sped through the trailer park too fast, kicking up dust and gravel. Someone shouted a litany of profanity as he whizzed by like a bullet. He slammed on the brakes outside Ducky and Daryl’s trailer, skidding into a ceramic planter with dying flowers. It tipped over, spilling dirt and dead stems onto the ground. Tate didn’t bother to right it.
He shoved out of the car, leaving the motor running and the door open as he charged up the three steps to the trailer. He didn’t bother knocking, instead kicking the door so hard it flew open with a splintered crack.
“What the fuck?” Daryl leaped up from an old table, splattering a bowl of cereal and milk onto the floor. His chair tipped, and his back hit the refrigerator.
“Where is he?” Tate stormed into the trailer, smacking a kitchen chair out of his way as he lunged for Daryl. He pinned the shocked man against the refrigerator with a forearm across his throat.
Daryl grabbed for his arm with a choked wheeze. His nails scraped Tate’s forearms, but Tate barely felt them rip at his skin. “What the hell, T?” Daryl managed in a raspy gurgle of rushed words.
He leaned in, speaking slowly and with a menacing tone. “Where. Is. Ducky?”
This time, he registered Daryl’s nails piercing his skin, so he backed off the pressure on the man’s throat.
“How would I know? I ain’t his keeper. What the hell is this about?”
“Is he here? Hiding in one of the rooms like a chickenshit?”
“What?” Daryl's eyes were wide, face red from lack of oxygen. “N-no. He left hours ago.” He shoved at Tate’s chest. “Get the hell off me, T.”
“Why?” he asked with a smirk. “Afraid you might like it if I get too close?”
The shock in Daryl’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced with abject fear. So much fear that Tate’s eyebrow arched.
“Fuck you.” Daryl began to struggle in earnest, kicking and shoving against Tate with all his strength.
His work boot collided with Tate’s shin. “Ow, Jesus, Daryl, calm down.” He released the man and stepped back as pain ricocheted up his leg.
“Me calm down?” Daryl rubbed his throat. “You’re the one charging in here like some psycho.”
He took a breath. The sharp pain in his shin cut through some of his fury, grounding him in the here and now. “I need to know where Ducky is,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “He met with Larkin this morning about picking up a few jobs. Where would he have gone after?”
Was it Tate’s imagination, or did Daryl’s face lose about ten shades of color?
“H-he wants to lay tiles with us?”
Could this take any longer? “I don’t know what he wants, but he was there talking to Larkin, so I guess.” He would have sworn he heard Daryl curse under his breath, but his lips barely moved. “Just tell me where he could be. It’s important.”
Daryl cocked his head. “Yeah? You gonna go all rage beast on him too?”
Tate didn’t respond.
After a few seconds, Daryl shrugged. “You know what? What the fuck do I care?” He dropped his hand from his throat. “Uh, I don’t think he’s working today, so he’s probably at The Nail.”