CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Savage
I stare after Candace, a smile sliding onto my lips and then fading. Holy fuck, what am I doing? I’m every shade of wrong for her that exists. She should be running from me. I should be protecting her from a distance, then walking away again.
My cellphone rings in my pocket and I snake it out to find Adam’s number on the caller ID. I punch the Answer button. “Talk to me.”
“He’s on the road, with his campaign manager cozying up to him in the backseat of the car. He’s fucking her.”
My eyes manage to shift to the floor and catch on the fucking engagement ring. I close the space between it and me, scooping it up. “Typical asshole. Buy her a big ring and he thinks he can stick it to another woman.”
“We’ve documented his fun and games. Blake got pulled into a high-profile serial killer in New York City right now. He’s pulled away from this. Asher is going to get cozy in his hotel, monitor Gabriel, and then start looking for links between Tag and Gabriel.”
Blake’s helping to catch a serial killer. If that doesn’t drive home the fact that I’m working for the good guys, I don’t know what does. But that doesn’t make me one of them, I remind myself, which leads me to Adam’s next question, “Any word from Tag?”
“Nada, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s playing me, setting me up. He needs time to do that. I need us to figure out how before he shows his hand.”
“Then you’ve decided you need us?”
“Yes, you sorry smart-ass motherfucker. I’ve decided I need you. Because of her.”
He laughs. “Yeah well, everyone needs a sorry smart-ass motherfucker on their side. Anything you know that I need to know?”
“Not yet. More soon.” I disconnect and stare at the ring, which is about three carats and ten grand. The one I got her was half a carat and fifteen hundred dollars. Thank fuck I have money now. I’ll buy her a damn thirty thousand dollar ring. I take the one in my hand and toss it in the trashcan.
Candace’s phone starts ringing in her purse. I don’t even hesitate. She’s in trouble. I need to know what the fuck is going on and I need to protect her. I grab it and glance at the caller ID that reads “Gabriel.” I decline the call. He immediately sends a message: Answer or I’ll worry. You know I don’t like to worry.
I grimace and type: You pea dick piece of shit. My finger hovers over send but I’m reminded of the fear I’ve sensed in Candace. I need to know what’s going on before I treat this dick like a dick. I grimace and delete the message before I type: Throwing up. Millie is making me stay with her. I hit send.
“Are you reading my messages?”
At Candace’s voice, I look up to find her in the doorway and damn she’s a sight for these deprived eyes. Her brown hair and green eyes coming together in a perfect pinup fantasy. One I’ve had a million times since foolishly leaving her behind. “Yes.” I don’t even consider lying. Lies are not what we need. Lies will destroy what’s left of us. “Are you pissed?”
She crosses to stand in front of me, a sweet little sway to her hips, before she snatches her phone from my hands. “No. I suppose I should be, but I’m exhausted by anger right now.” She glances at the message and then back at me. “I’m at my father’s and throwing up.”
“Brutally throwing up. It’s disgusting. There’s no possible way that bastard would want to stick his tongue down your throat. On the off chance he still tries, I volunteer to cut his tongue off.”
She blinks up at me, the way she used to when I said over the top shit, and then also as she had in the past, she moves on. I love that shit. The way she acts like I said nothing outrageous. “I’ll call Millie and make sure she backs me up.”
“We need to talk about you and him.”
“Did you order the pizza?”
“That’s a change of topic I can’t allow.”
“Did you order the pizza?” she repeats.
“Not yet,” I admit.
“Then we can’t talk. I’m hungry. It needs to start working its way to us. And on that note, I’m calling Millie while turning on the fireplace. The house is cold.” She walks toward the living room, those sweet hips swaying again. My cock standing up and paying her the attention she deserves.
I’m pussy whooped and I don’t even give a fuck. I do as told. I dial the pizza place, and bingo, the number is still as good as my rock hard memory. Obviously, my cock is doing my thinking right now. Everything is rock hard. I’m so fucking rock hard.