Four Letter Word
Page 92

 
Chapter Twenty-one

BRIAN
The front door shut behind Syd. I heard a car starting in the driveway, another door shutting, and then the sound of my girl leaving me.
Fucking leaving me.
It was all I could do not to follow her.
I looked at the floor and scrubbed my face with my hands, my muscles burning as they locked up while I fought against the urge to punch holes in every goddamn wall in this house.
Watching your reason for living falling apart after shit you did, ain’t nothing more devastating than that.
Except maybe hearing that reason tell you to stay away.
And that’s what she did.
I couldn’t go to Syd. Couldn’t call or text. Couldn’t hold her while she cried or wipe away the tears she was shedding because of what I’d done.
Hell. I was in it.
Thought I’d been here before but I was wrong. This was it.
And it was my fault. All of it. I put myself here. I deserved to feel this pain.
But Wild, she didn’t deserve any of it.
I’d kill a motherfucker for putting this type of hurt on my girl, yet I was the one dragging Syd through hell with me.
She got here, looking broken already, and I knew why—she didn’t need to say. Then I laid it out, all of that ugly, meant every word I said about regrets and the ones I don’t have, gave Syd the truth she was justified all along in getting, not knowing what was gonna come out of it, if she would understand, forgive and stay mine, or if she would do the right thing, give me what I deserved back and end it, leave, take herself away from me because after everything I did, no fucking way did I earn the right to be with her.
I didn’t deserve her good.
After hearing me out, my girl chose right. She chose what should’ve happened. I understood that. Even in hell, I understood it.
Didn’t mean it was what I wanted.
Never could want that. I wanted her with me. I would always want her with me.
I got her choice.
Didn’t mean I wouldn’t beg to keep her.
I would beg for the rest of my miserable fucking life, miserable without her in it.
I warranted her leaving me.
Didn’t mean I wouldn’t do everything to get her back.
I would. I’d fix this. Promised her and I would. I’d be the man she deserved. I’d protect Syd like I should’ve done months ago.
I would never hurt her again. I’d die first.
I knew what I had to do.
Grabbing my keys, I crated Sir so he wouldn’t roam and get into shit, stepped out of the house, locked up, and brought my phone to my ear as I was striding toward my Jeep.
“Yeah?” Jamie answered on the second ring.
“Meet me at the warehouse. Got shit I need to handle there and I might need backup.” I swung the driver’s side door open and climbed inside.
“Backup? For what?” he asked. “Thought you were done with that place.”
I gritted my teeth and started the engine.
“I fuckin’ am! Jesus, do I ask you for shit? Ever? Can you just fuckin’ meet me there without giving me the third degree?”
“All right, I was just askin’. Christ,” Jamie returned. “Give me twenty.”
“Give you ten. Leave now,” I shot back, shifting into Reverse. “Got a feeling I’m gonna need you to pull me off Mike before I fuckin’ kill him.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Jamie knew about Mike. Knew enough to know I hated the bastard and wouldn’t mind laying him out if I had the chance.
I didn’t need to explain further.
“Right. Leavin’ now,” Jamie threw out.
I hung up, tossed my phone on the seat, backed out of the driveway, and rode to Xstasy.
There weren’t a ton of cars in the lot, but there were enough to know people were shooting, which meant Mike was there.
He didn’t trust anyone shooting and using his equipment without keeping an eye on things.
I parked by the door, cut the engine, and got out. I scanned the lot for Jamie.
He wasn’t here yet.
Fuck.
Cracking my knuckles, I debated waiting until he showed before I handled this. Then I pictured Syd.
Standing on the porch looking like she didn’t belong in that house with me.
Crying and giving me her pain.
Telling me she was leaving, and if I followed, it would be over …
I stalked to the door, threw it open, and went inside.
There was music playing off to the left. Heavy bass vibrated off the walls. I glanced at the gathering of people standing over by the scene they were shooting, scanned for Mike, and when I didn’t see him, slid my eyes to the office door at the other end of the room and made for that.
I didn’t knock.
Fuck courtesies.
Turning the knob, I went right in.
Mike looked up from his desk. He jerked straight in his chair, hit me with hate-filled eyes, and told the person he was listening to on the phone, “Gotta go. I’ll call you back,” then he disconnected the call, slammed the phone down on his desk, stood with hands bracing on the papers in front of him so he was leaning forward, heaved through his breaths, and bared his fucking teeth.
“You got balls stepping in here,” he growled, trying to sound threatening. “Get the fuck outta my building, you piece of shit.”
I stalked forward.
I wasn’t afraid of Mike, but he was damn sure afraid of me, which was good. I needed that fear. It was the only way I’d get cooperation from him.
I was six-two. He was barely taller than my girl.
I had muscle and could throw a punch and have that shit hurt. He had a gut that hung over his belt and got winded from standing.
I wasn’t here to negotiate. He was about to find that out.
Mike’s spineless body shot ramrod straight when I got opposite him with only the desk separating us, slammed my own hands down on top of the cluster of shit he had covering it, and leaned forward.
“Want you to take down all those videos you got of me,” I growled. “All of them. Want off that site and I want it happening today, right the fuck now, cocksucker.” I pointed at his chair, which had slid out when he stood. “So sit your fat ass down and get to fuckin’ work. I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
Mike stared at me like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of my mouth.
Then he grabbed his stomach, threw his head back, and laughed like he’d just heard the funniest fucking thing ever.
“You fucking asshole.” He shook his head with a smile. “I own your shit, Dash! Own it all, motherfucker! I’m not taking down jack.” He leaned forward on jack and pointed at my face. “You’re outta luck, dickhead. I’m gonna make money off you until the day I fucking die.”
My pulse jumped.
Something coiled tight in my stomach.
“I didn’t sign anything saying what I shot belonged to you,” I grated out, reminding him of the contract we never had, feeling my hands curl into fists on top of the papers I was crushing. “I never signed a damn thing, meaning you own nothin’.”
“Not how it works,” he shot back, lowering his arm. “Whatever you did when you stepped inside this building belongs to me. We had a verbal agreement and I will hold you to that, motherfucker. Shot you fucking and jerking your load on my cameras, uploaded that shit to my site, and that’s where they’re fucking staying. And just so we’re clear”—he cocked his head—“you didn’t have me signing shit either, meaning you got nothing to force my hand.”