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)
He’d kissed him goodbye. Told him to ride safe and call if he needed anything. Told him he loved him.
And instead of doing that, Furi had gone to record this.
Syn didn’t move from the counter and stayed that way until he heard the low, familiar rumble of Furi’s Harley turning onto their street.
He forced his breathing to stay controlled.
Because if he let it loose—
Furious
Syn’s truck was in the driveway when Furi turned onto their street.
The sight punched a cold hole through the middle of him.
It was a little after nine, which meant Syn was late leaving for his night shift. He should’ve been gone already.
Furi slowed his bike.
For one desperate second, he thought about backing out, riding around the block, giving himself five more minutes to figure out the perfect way to say everything.
No!
He’d spent a week swallowing the truth until it scraped him raw going down.
Furi dragged in a breath, then another, swung off the bike, and forced his legs to move.
He came in through the garage door, keeping his steps quiet on the couple of steps into the laundry room.
The house was dark.
Furi hooked his keys on the small peg by the door and stepped into the kitchen, feeling for the wall switch. He flipped the light on and damn near jumped out of his boots.
“Shit!”
He jerked back hard enough to hit his shoulder on the doorframe, slapping his hand to his chest.
Syn was sitting at the breakfast counter…in the dark.
He hadn’t moved when the light came on. Hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t said a word.
He sat with both forearms braced on the counter, shoulders squared, spine rigid, his expression set in flat stillness.
His black and gray hair was a mess, as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it until he no longer cared how it looked.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscles above his cheek ticced. Those dark eyes blazed like burnt onyx in his direction.
A laptop was open in front of him, its screen black and dead.
Furi’s heart stopped. He was too late.
“Corbin,” Furi started, voice low and hesitant.
He took a couple of steps forward and halted when Syn stabbed a key on the laptop.
Illustra’s website was already open to his page. The banner scrolled across the top with his name in bold lettering beneath the headline Mack had plastered everywhere like a damn victory flag.
HE’S BACK!!!
Furi stared at the screen for a heartbeat, then at Syn, and whatever courage he’d left with from the bar, thinned to almost nothing.
Syn was too calm, however, his glare betrayed him.
It wasn’t wild or crazed…it was focused.
Syn continued to stare at the screen for a long, silent moment, then raised his brows and nodded once as if he’d reached some conclusion.
“That’s beautiful work, Furi,” he said dryly. His voice stripped of warmth. “Really. Quite an impressive performance.”
Furi didn’t say thank you. The work probably was beautiful, but Syn’s remark wasn’t a compliment.
It was pain wrapped in a suit of defensive armor.
“Did you read the comments?” Syn asked.
Furi’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
Syn finally glared at him. “No?”
Furi shook his head once.
“Let me enlighten you.”
Syn cast his gaze back to the screen, his voice even.
“‘Furious needs to open an OnlyFans. I’d pay stupid money for a taste of that.’” Syn scrolled again. “‘How much for a private showing? Name the price. I’ll buy the whole night.’” Another scroll. His jaw flexed. “‘Damn, so glad he dropped that ball and chain and came back where he belongs.’”
Furi closed his eyes.
Syn kept going.
“Here’s another one.” His tone colder. “‘Whoever had him locked down was holding back a national treasure. Welcome back, king.’” Syn gave a short, ugly chuckle. “These are my favorites. ‘Hope Furious stays single this time. He doesn’t need another insecure jealous boyfriend.’ ‘Tell whoever had him playing house that fun time is over. Furious belongs to us now.’”
Furi recoiled so hard, he felt the beers threaten to come up.
No, he hadn’t read the comments. He’d refused to. Told himself he didn’t care, that the only part of this that mattered was the money and what it could fix. He’d ignored the noise, the subscribers, the posts, the tags, all of it.
He’d been a fool for thinking not looking at them meant it wouldn’t affect them.
He crossed the kitchen, reached past Syn, and snapped the laptop closed.
“I didn’t read them,” he said softly. “Because I don’t care what anyone is saying.”
Syn slammed his fist down on the counter so hard the salt and pepper shakers jumped.
“I care!”
Furi yelped, not from fear of Syn hurting him, never that, but from the rage and devastation in his voice.
It was the first fracture in Syn’s control, the first flash of the wound beneath the locked-down composure.
He’d done this. So he’d take it.
Furi gulped around the sorrow lodged in his throat. “I know. I know you do. But please understand why I did this.”