Split(65)

A slow smile pulls at my lips as sanity escapes me and leaves me with a strange, crazed pride. “Aww, Gage. Are you saying you want to protect me from the big bad scary girl?”

“Hardly.” He pulls off his baseball hat and runs a hand through his thick dark hair before popping it back on. “She causes trouble for you, it could blow back on Luke.”

“Shy, you in there?”

My brother’s frantic knocks sound against the door.

My eyes dart to Gage’s, who seems totally unaffected.

“Yeah, Code, we’ll uh . . . we’ll be out in a sec.” I rush to Gage, whispering, “If you’re gonna stay . . . here . . . you better put on your best Lucas mask.”

He smiles, but this time it’s not the creepy evil kind but the amused kind. He nods.

I give Gage one more stern look before I turn and unlock the door, opening it enough for Cody to slip into the room. He eyes us both, speculation dripping from his gaze. “Everything good in here?”

“Of course.” I throw my shoulders back.

He narrows his eyes. “Okay. I told the bartender lady that you got sick. She said you can take off. The mood Samantha’s in, I’m not leaving you here with her.”

Gage chuckles but covers his mouth and keeps his eyes to the floor.

“I need to get Lucas the hell out of here before he gets stripped and taken advantage of.” Cody grins and slaps Gage on the back. “Fuck, man. Who knew you had that kind of game. I thought Sam was gonna rip me apart to get at you.”

I catch the hint of a sly grin, but luckily Gage only shrugs.

“She was still fired up when I left her.” He motions toward me. “Bartender chick said settle up. I’ll drop your cash at the bar, and you can head home.”

“But what about Lucas?”

Cody scratches his jaw. “Shit, that’s right. You take him home.”

Gage’s eyes meet mine. Great, alone in my truck with Gage.

“Fine.” I pull out my tickets, do a little math, and shove a wad of cash at Cody. “There.”

“All right. Get Casanova here home safely.” He pulls Gage into a playful headlock.

His body goes stiff and his fists ball.

Crap!

I tug the sleeve of Gage’s sweatshirt, freeing him from my brother before Gage does something he’ll regret. “Come on, let’s get you home.”





GAGE


I should just pull back and let Luke take over.

Here in Shyann’s truck, the scent of her rain-soaked skin intensifies and surrounds me in the smell of her fruity girl shampoo along with a lingering hint of stale booze and smoke. After tonight I’m wondering if I misjudged the woman. Maybe she’s safe? I peer over at her from the corner of my eye and internally slap myself for being a dumbass.

Who the f*ck am I kidding.

She’s a walking, talking, hell-on-wheels threat to everything Luke has managed to build here. A few weeks ago he’d never step foot into a bar, drink himself dizzy, and risk touching a woman, but that’s exactly where I found him. What’s worse is this agonizing tingling in my chest, the constant weight in my balls, and the throb of rushing blood that aches to touch her is driving me insane.

All bad.

Every-f*cking-thing about this woman screams danger of epic proportions. A woman only has the power to destroy you if you give it to her.

That’s not gonna happen.

Not on my watch.

The truck bumps through puddles of mud, and the visibility through the rain and the dark is next to zero. I grind my teeth. Sitting bitch in this truck, being driven by a woman like I’m some kind of invalid, I should cut my own balls off for the offense. I’d grab her by the throat and make her pull over if I thought she’d listen. Experience has proved she won’t.

And I can’t fight with her because her resistance makes me hard. It makes me want to break her, tear her down piece by f*cking piece to make her compliant. That smart mouth, fake confidence she hides her terror behind, it’s all hot as hell.

Damn her for making me feel something, anything.

Yeah, I don’t want to fight with her.

I just wanna get the f*ck out of the car.

I should’ve let Luke take over back there. Should’ve backed off and let him stumble through the rest of the night, but he’s not strong enough to fight this witch’s spell.

He’s not.

But I am.

She clears her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Why not— Oh, wait. I don’t care.”

“Then stop talk—”

“Where’d you get the scar from?” So matter of fact when she’s asking something personal and none of her f*cking business.

“Shark attack.”

“Oh yeah? I hear those San Bernardino sharks are insanely vicious.”

Don’t smile, you f*cking *.

“It’s cool. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll ask Lucas.” There’s a hint of challenge in her voice. A tone that says, Dare me.

“He won’t tell you either.”

She shrugs and her headlights shine on the cabin up ahead as we round the corner. “We’ll see,” she whispers.

I hide my smile into my shoulder. He might be able to tell her how it got there, but he can’t share details because he wasn’t there the night we got the scar.