31. RYAN
RYAN
Tate crouches at my feet. Every detail’s more pronounced, sharper. His jaw, his full lips, the way his hair falls in his eyes. I love Tate’s put-together vibe, but wrecked like this, on the edge of holding it together, does things to my insides. He unlocks my ankles.
“I’m fine.”
He stands, taking hold of my locked wrists. “That’s bullshit, but we’ll take care of it. What the fuck were you doing jumping in front of a gun like that?”
“I wasn’t letting him shoot you.”
“We’re having a long conversation about it later.” He slips the key in, releasing my wrists, and I rub them like they do in the movies.
“VanCourt, a moment of your time,” Kline rasps.
Tate slides a hand across my cheek, eyes never leaving mine. “What do you want, Kline?”
“In private.”
“Fuck me,” he says under his breath. “I don’t want to talk to him, but there are a few things we should go over before we leave. Then I’m getting you out of here, dollface.”
“I need to talk to my brother anyway,” I say. Griff went over to talk to Cooper as soon as Clarence was no longer a threat.
His fingers dig into my skin. Tate does not want to leave me, that’s for fucking sure. “Stay where I can see you. I fucking mean it, Ryan.”
A shiver goes through me. “Promise.”
But he lingers for several heartbeats, finally pressing a kiss to my forehead before sauntering over to Kline. “This better be worth taking me away from my husband, fuckface.”
I head over to the other side of the room where Griff and Cooper are. There have been too many coin tosses with Griff’s life for my liking this season. I thought it was over. All it would have taken was for Clarence’s hand to slip.
Yeah, not thinking about that anymore.
Griff sees me coming, and he meets me halfway, crashing into my torso, arms wrapping around me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Sorry? For what? That was fucking badass, Griff. Where’d you learn that?”
“North Point, bonehead.” He lets go and signs, I’m sorry for what happened at school. Complicated.
The day he left with Kline. Yeah, that kinda fucked me up, but it wasn’t his fault. I’m getting the impression he was being the protective one. Maybe he was worried about Cooper.
“It’s fine, Griff. I shouldn’t be so overbearing.”
You’re my big brother, he signs, rolling his eyes.
Cooper watches us, body stiff, and it’s clear he feels like an outsider. Griff notices, too.
“Cooper needs to return to North Point,” Griff says in a hushed voice.
“How?” Griff points to Tate, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I imagine how well that’ll go over with him. “I’ll be lucky if I’m going back to North Point after this.”
I’ve been mentally preparing myself for life at the brewery, where he’ll probably keep me under lock and key, making Ethan babysit me.
Griff shakes his head. “Just ask him. He’ll give you whatever you want.”
Tate won’t give me whatever I want. Will he?
Griff seems sure of himself. Whatever he saw tonight has him convinced.
I turn my head to watch Tate with Kline.
Kline seems to be pleading with him and losing.
Tate stands tall, one hand in his pocket, exuding the confidence of a tiger.
I see if I can read his body language beyond what he’s trying to sell to everyone else.
His eyes pinch the smallest amount, but I clock it. He’s exhausted. And then I remember what he probably has in that pocket, that creepy glass doll eye. I’d bet the entire Savage fortune that he’s fidgeting with it to prevent himself from strangling Kline. His emotional support glass doll eye.
Now I want to see if Griff is right.
But also, I’m not just a tagalong, I’m Tate’s husband. He’s essentially an underground kingpin. Shouldn’t I be a co-kingpin or something? I can make the decision, and I say we’re taking Cooper with us. Fuck Kline.
“Babe.” Tate turns his head, ignoring whatever Kline was saying to him in favor of me. He smiles, probably because I called him babe in front of everyone. “Coop’s coming with us.”
“Cooper is not coming with you,” Kline says.
“My husband has fucking spoken, Kline,” Tate says, and my insides are as warm as a mug of hot chocolate hugs on a rainy-ass day. Kline, well, he’s probably going to fall over. The man doesn’t look so good. He should sit down.
Kline leans against the wall, in no state to fight us. Whoa. The man is on his last shred of endurance. He must have been fighting to keep it together. Griff heads over to him with a chair. Kline accepts his help.
What the fuck is going on?
“We’re going back to North Point, sir,” Griff says quietly. “We’ll come home for the s-s-summer.”
Kline gives a reluctant nod. I want to argue, because this isn’t Griff’s home, but where is his home now?
I have one with Tate. Our father, or, I guess, my father, is also here, locked up in the Kline dungeon—I’m assuming there’s a dungeon.
Okay, maybe I can see why Griff doesn’t know where he should go.
But I figured he’d either live at home with Rosaline or move in with Tate and me.
Or, hell, I’d get Tate to buy him his own condo.
That reminds me. We somehow have to tell Rosaline about this or figure out a way to keep this from her. That’s a problem for later.
I check on McKinnon. He’s asleep on Luke. Of course he is. This motherfucker. Not a care in the world. Everything works out for him.
We set Griff and Cooper in the living room at the condo. Luke and Ace take the spare room after I apologized to him for nearly beating him to death.
He shrugged. “Meh, we were on the ice, and I totally plan to have my revenge. Luke might kill you once he’s normal again, though.”
Of course, McKinnon was unbothered. Does anything faze that guy?
Luke was snoring with a cozy smile on his face on the bed in the spare room. He’s … large, which seems to be a VanCourt trait. I may need Tate’s help with that one.
There’s a loud throat clear from behind me where I’m helping Griff and Cooper set up for the night. Tate’s there, leaning against the door, his hand extended for me. A wordless order to go to him.
He’s come to collect me.
Goosebumps break out over my flesh.
Like a magnet, I gravitate toward him, taking his hand, and he pulls me into the bedroom. He rips my shirt off, then he puts me in his favorite place, trapped against the wall.
“Give me that pretty neck, dollface.”
I open for him. His lips find my pulse point, and they suck.
I don’t want to think, or talk, or do anything but breathe Tate in.
Pleasure curls like smoke through all my limbs.
I arch my back and moan, already panting.
His lips travel down, down, down, along my collarbone, and then his teeth sink into my shoulder.
I dip my head forward, muffling my cry into his neck.
“I’m going to mark you up so good,” he says.
How long has he been waiting for this? Putting marks where they’ll show? Probably since the day he met you, and even more since the day you told him he couldn’t.
Tate’s lips find my lips, the kiss is hungry, deep. Like he’s trying to find his way back into my soul, but he never left it. Tate’s there forever.
He snarls. “They tried to take you from me.”
With his hair a picture of utter hysteria, loose, feathered over his face, and the darkness around his eyes from being high for days, he’s demonic perfection. He leans back, opening his pants to pull out his cock and stroke it, watching me, as if I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.
He seems to have a sudden thought. He drops his cock, reaching into his pocket, pulling out my wedding ring. Did he get it when he came in here, or has he been carrying that around with him?
Taking my palm, pressing his thumb into the center, and wrapping his fingers around the hand so it’s trapped, he slides the ring onto my wedding finger.
“This goes here. It never comes off again. You’re mine forever,” he says. “If you run from me, I’ll find you. When we die, I’ll chase you into your next life, and the one after that, too.”
“I’d never leave you, Tate. I never want to.”
“But you did.”
Ah, yeah, that. I was hoping we’d fuck first, deal with important shit later. He shrugs out of his jacket, though, tossing it on the floor. Maybe we’re doing a bit of both.
Smoothing his fingers along my cheek, his thumb drags until it finds the divot between my bottom lip and chin. “You made the decision for me.”
“No, I … I was trying to make it easier for you.”
“It was easy for me. Easiest decision I’ve ever made.”
“You picked me?” Yeah, those words come out of my mouth, even though I suspected he did. It’s not hard to believe that he would; it’s hard to believe someone thinks I’m that important. I’ve always been my father’s heir and nothing else.
“You’re mine,” he snaps. “Of course, I picked you.”
“I didn’t want to make you choose between your brother and me.”
A soft rumble starts in his chest, expanding into amused laughter. “Make me? You don’t make me do anything, dollface.”
“Tate, be serious. It’s your brother, I’m just—”
“The man I can’t live without.” He sucks on my neck some more. “The man I would maim, kill, and die for.” He finds my lips and steals a hungry kiss. “My heart only beats for you. I love you, dollface.”
“You said that when …”
“When I was high as a kite? I remember. I meant it.”
“But you said you couldn’t love.”
“I know what I said, but then I met you and realized I didn’t know shit.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper. He takes one of my beat-up hands and presses his lips to the battered knuckles.
“I know,” he says like the smug bastard he is.