Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“No.”
Syn jerked away from him, shaking his head so hard he’d probably given himself a headache.
“And I don’t want you to ask them either,” Syn growled. “I mean it, Furious.”
He nodded. “Okay. Okay. It was just a thought.”
A stupid one. He should’ve known better.
Syn was one of the proudest men he’d ever met, and providing for them mattered to him in a deep, brutal way.
Syn opened the door before glancing one last time over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”
He listened to the truck start and back out of the driveway, until the sound faded into traffic.
Silence swallowed their home.
He dropped onto the stool Syn had vacated and stared at nothing.
Damnit.
He felt worse than Syn did, because their financial problems weren’t just bad luck. They were his fault.
He’d allowed Syn to dump a huge chunk of his savings into his shop during the recession. When it didn’t work, Furi doubled down and Syn borrowed against his 401k to buy five classic bikes for him to restore for the Continental Ride Show in Daytona.
He’d been so sure the investment would’ve quadrupled in return.
But the recession never ended, and the show had been a disaster.
Half-empty crowds with lint-filled pockets, and no dealers or big buyers.
Nobody wanted tricked-out custom bikes when they were struggling to afford gas and groceries.
Now the shop takings barely covered the overhead, and the love of his life—a decorated police sergeant—was out delivering goddamn cheeseburgers.
Furi pressed both palms against his eyes.
It was killing Syn, but most of all it was killing Furi watching it.
Which meant he had to do something…anything.
Partners sacrificed for each other like Syn already had for him.
Now it was his turn.
Furi pulled out his phone and stared at it.
He hovered his thumb over the contact for nearly five full minutes before he hit call.
The line rang twice.
“Illustra,” a woman answered. “How can I help you?”
Furi’s voice caught in his throat.
Silence.
“Hello? This is Illustra.”
He stared at the floor.
“Um…can I speak to Mack?”
“I’m sorry, he’s currently in a meet—”
“Tell him it’s Furious Styles.”
It was her turn to be silent before she blurted. “One—one second please.”
The line clicked, then exploded with energy seconds later.
“Furi, my boy! It’s good to hear from you.” Mack roared loud enough to hurt his ears.
Furi shut his eyes and ignored the excitement, cutting right to the chase. “Does your offer still stand?”
Mack laughed like the jackal he was. “Fuck yeah it does.”
“Triple it.”
“Done.”
Furi hung up without saying goodbye. He gripped the phone tight in his hand, anxiety weighing heavy in his chest.
Syn was going to lose his damn mind when he found out what he’d agreed to do, but by the time he did, it’d already be done.
Love made people do desperate things. Bold, reckless…necessary things.
And if swallowing his pride meant doing something he’d said he’d never do again, to give back to the man who’d sacrificed everything for him, then Furi was going to do it.
And while he suffered the consequences, he’d watch the twenty-thousand-dollar royalty checks flood in.
Xander Vale
The private hospital wing was quiet and serene with its overpriced abstract artwork on the walls, in soothing blues, grays, and golds. Fresh cut flowers were arranged at every nurse’s station. The halls had low, cream-colored sofas and sleek leather chairs tucked into small alcoves beside polished end tables stacked with current issues of magazines and books, clearly reflecting that this hospital catered to a certain class, unlike the county hospital.
As he moved through the halls, his security stood near every entrance, hands folded in front of them.
Xander hated that this was his new normal, moving with a cluster of guards as if he were an important politician. He couldn’t stand the way everybody gawked at him. As if he was something fragile…hunted.
Devyn limped beside him with one hand pulling his IV cart while he used the other to steady himself against the railing.
He looked better, still rough, but better.
The bruising around his jaw and left eye had faded from violent purple into a sickly yellow-green. A long healing incision disappeared into the hair near his temple where surgeons repaired a fractured orbital bone after the first blow from the pipe shattered it.
His staggered gait was the result of three cracked ribs, and his left wrist was wrapped in a hard brace after reconstructive surgery repaired the multiple torn ligaments.
But he was alive and walking, which was surprising since four days ago nobody knew if he or Luke were going to survive.
Luke—Devyn’s boyfriend—had taken two direct blows to the skull trying to protect him.
The doctors said the second impact had almost killed him.
A subdural hematoma caused dangerous swelling around Luke’s brain, but the quick surgery relieved the pressure, and he was placed in an induced coma before it could become fatal.
Part of Luke’s skull had temporarily been removed to save his life before being surgically restored yesterday morning.