He slumps in Ryder’s arms, who lets him drop to the ground. “See, brother? Easy.” I laugh.

Tony and Sam grab the man and drag him back to their car as we head to ours. “Diesel will be happy.” Ryder grins. “And we’ll get the information we need. They fucked with the wrong people.”

“Vipers, brother. Even snakes fear other snakes,” I agree.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ROXY

I’m going to kill him.

Seriously. I’m going to kill Garrett. Garrett and I haven’t spoken all morning after what happened last night. This morning, Diesel dragged me from my room, and Garrett cooked me breakfast without saying a word to me. After, they tugged me into the living room where I fell asleep on the sofa. He won’t speak to me or even look in my direction.

It’s driving me nuts.

So what? He hates women. And yeah, he used me, but I enjoyed it. I would have told him no or kicked his ass otherwise. I don’t give a fuck, and for some reason, I want him. I need to peel away all that anger to reach that fear I saw underneath. To the man I know he is.

It seems so important, but he won’t let me, instead giving me the cold shoulder. Fuck that. I’ve never been the type to sit idly by. I survived this long by being a fighter and never giving up, no matter how scared I was. This is no different.

Whatever is between us has morphed over the time I’ve been here, and sleeping with Kenzo and Ryder has only cemented that. I want them, and I care for them—not that I’ll ever tell them. The bastards would use it against me.

I can keep fighting myself all I want, or I can revel in it. Bathe in the pleasure and power they offer. I’m tired of running, tired of living day to day, and Garrett doesn’t get to push me away because he’s scared.

I’m terrified.

Of him, of them, and what they mean to my body and heart. But I’m still here. Still fighting. So he has to as well.

I annoy him at first, poking him, kicking him, and when he snarls at me, I smirk in triumph. He goes back to ignoring me and watching TV, so I change the channel. He grunts and yells at me, but his phone rings.

I hear him talking to someone who sounds like Kenzo, so I keep changing the channel. He gets irritated and shouts and ends the call, glaring at me. “Behave.”

“Or what?” I grin. “Going to put me on my knees again?”

His eyes darken hungrily, his gaze dropping to my smirking lips in memory as he shifts on the sofa, no doubt remembering his cock there—I know I am. “That was a mistake.”

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy. Hey, I was supposed to have a tattoo finished soon, can I still go?” I question.

“By who?” he counters, narrowing his eyes. At least it’s a step in the right direction.

“Zeke, from Alluring Art.” I shrug.

“A guy?” he snaps, his body vibrating with anger. “No.”

“What? Why?” I ask, pissed now.

“No one other than us touches you,” he growls, and I laugh.

“Jealous?” I smirk.

He grins again. “No, the others would kill him. Is your tattoo really worth his death?”

Diesel laughs too, as he slouches on the sofa next to me. “He’s right, I would kill him, but Garrett tattoos, he can finish it for you. He did all of ours.”

Garrett freezes as I perk up. “Shit, really? They’re good! Will you?”

“No,” he snaps, grinding his teeth as he throws a glare at a smirking Diesel.

“What? Why? I can’t go to Zeke, but you won’t finish it?” I yell.

His head turns slowly, eyes dark. “I’m not inking you, forget it.”

“Why? ’Cause I’m a woman and you would hate to lower yourself to touching me?” I poke.

“Oh, this is going to be good, I need popcorn,” Diesel mutters, but I ignore him as I stare at Garrett, not backing down now.

“Leave it,” Garrett warns.

Yeah, fuck that. I’m done with his tantrums. “What’s your issue? Scared of pussy, or are you just really so self-destructive and filled with hate that you can only get it up by hurting someone?”

The room is silent apart from the popping of Diesel’s popcorn in the kitchen.

“Walk away, right now,” he snarls, his voice low and deadly. His eyes are alight with that same wrath I saw in the ring—he’s beyond angry. He’s going into his fighting territory, and I’m the opponent.

The smart thing to do would be to walk away and let him calm down. Do I? No, of course not. I never said I was smart, but I do have some big ass balls. “No. So is that it, little Garrett? Was it your mummy? No, a girlfriend I bet. What did she do, cheat? Oh no, poor little Garrett, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like shit, you big asshole. You can glare and threaten me all you want, but everyone knows the truth. You want me, and you hate yourself for it.”

Life is never promised, tomorrow is never guaranteed, and I don’t believe in wasting any time on what you wish you had said or done. So even though I know it’s dumb, I let it all out. We can never move forward until we get over the past.

He moves quickly, probably from his boxing, grabs my throat, and drags me into the air. My feet barely touch the floor, but I don’t fight his hold. I relax into it with a smirk, even as he tightens his grasp, cutting off my air supply. Those lips are curled up in hate, and his face is a snarl. Nothing but anger is guiding him. He doesn’t see me, no, he sees her.

The woman who hurt him so deeply he’s never recovered.

“You have a death wish? Is that it? Want me to kill you? Because I will. You might have sucked my dick, I might want you, but I will still end you,” he threatens.

“Then do it, let’s really end this. Kill me now, or stop using your fear as an excuse to push me away,” I wheeze.

He breathes heavily, his chest heaving as he glares at me. With a grunt, he throws me back to the sofa and goes to storm away. Sucking in rapid breaths, I rise to my feet, my eyes catching on Diesel, who’s sitting out of the way on the table, munching on popcorn and looking way too happy to watch the drama unfold.

Stomping after Garrett, I chase him upstairs. He slams his door, but I rip it open and follow him inside. I refuse to back down now, I’m finally getting somewhere.

He paces the floor before swinging his arm out and sweeping it across his drawers, knocking everything to the floor with a crash. Glass shatters, but he doesn’t care. He swings his hand and connects it with the bag so hard it snaps and tumbles to the floor. He grabs his bed and tosses it over, and even in the midst of the destruction, it’s not enough.

I can feel it.

I know that feeling, when you’re so filled with hurt, with pain, it warps you. I healed mine over the years with the help of Rich, but Garrett hasn’t had that chance. He bottled it all up, not wanting to show his weakness, and it’s rotting him from the inside out.

It will kill him.

So even though I’m facing down death, I keep pushing. “Finished?” I drawl, leaning against the wall.

He spins, his nostrils flaring, and advances on me. He slams me back to the wall. “This feels familiar,” I tease.

“Stop pushing,” he growls.