Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Noise from the self-defense class surrounded him, with Sven’s voice coming through the loudest because he was teaching. The room smelled of sweat and rubber. Grunts from different workout stations matched his own as he slammed his fists into the heavy bag.
“Dammit, Royce, stop!”
Technically, Royce was on vacation, so he didn’t have to respond to the order. But he owed the man. A lot. His mother was home and back on her meds. The painting was back in the museum where it belonged. The hoopla over the long-missing piece of art had dominated the news cycles for a week. The drug deal gone bad had been all over the news, too, and he’d never heard a peep from local authorities. But someone knew what had really happened, because he’d received a gift in the mail from New York. A fucking thank-you basket for taking out a problem—with a promise of no retaliation from the family.
He hadn’t even recognized the name of the sender.
His guess was that Corbin’s foray into drugs hadn’t been as welcome as he’d expected, and his days had already been numbered.
When the basket arrived, he briefly entertained the thought of rushing straight over to Marc’s house. Fear of retaliation from his family had driven him away in hopes of keeping Marc safe, but it was more than just the damn Karras family keeping them apart.
“I’m not saying it again, Royce.” Rowe was closer now.
Royce grabbed the punching bag to halt its momentum and turned to face his boss. He lifted his soaked shirt to swipe the tail over his forehead, blinking rapidly to try and clear out the stinging eye.
“Shit, Royce,” Rowe grumbled.
He dropped the shirt, realizing Rowe had been looking at his body. He wasn’t trying to lose weight; he just didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, watching his redheaded boss stare back, a frown pulling his eyebrows together.
“Your beard looks like it could nest small creatures.”
“I’m on vacation. I’ll trim it when I’m back on duty.” Royce kept his voice calm, although inside, he was anything but. Fury and grief. The mix boiled inside him at all times, making his adrenaline spike so high, he could hardly contain it.
“Why are you trying to kill my equipment, Karras?”
Fuck, he hated his name now. He had to work not to turn and look at the other punching bag he’d demolished. “I’ll pay for a new one.”
Rowe got into his face. They were close to the same height, and Royce forgot sometimes because Rowe was a lot bulkier than Royce. It made him seem bigger than he actually was. Green eyes, full of anger and worry, stared him down. “I don’t give a shit about the equipment. I give a shit about you, and you look bad. On some new fad diet or something? You’ve dropped at least twenty pounds.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure how I eat isn’t a part of my job description.”
He got an eye roll for that one. “You are so fucking angry.” Rowe grabbed his hand and started unwrapping it. “All the time. Angry. These are soaked through with blood and yet, you don’t stop. I came over here to take you to the mats. To let you work off some of this fury on me, but after seeing your hands, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Chicken?” Royce snarled.
Green eyes narrowed. “You are cruising for a bad time, Karras. We both know I could whip your ass. Especially now, because of the shape you’re in.”
“I’m stronger than I ever have been.” He flexed his arms. “All muscle.”
“Muscles need food, dumbass. And yours are starving on your fucking quinoa.”
That brought a snort out of Royce. “I hate that shit.”
“Brown rice and vegetables. Whatever. You need protein and a hell of a lot more food than you’ve been taking in. I’ve watched you come in here every day this week and work out for hours. It’s not healthy.” He unwrapped the other hand, wincing. “Come on, we gotta fix this up. If you insist on keeping with this crazy schedule of a workout, change it up so you’re not using your fists until they heal.”
Royce yanked his hand away and stepped back. “Is that an order?” He took another step and nearly tripped when he hit one of the large mats that covered half the floors. He didn’t need this right now. He had another week of his three-week vacation and he should have kept out of sight. But he couldn’t face the days alone in his place. Couldn’t face one more day of pacing and insomnia. He didn’t even have cable television to occupy his attention.
Since walking out of Marc’s hospital room, Sven, Quinn, Dom, and Garrett had all taken turns lighting up his phone when they weren’t on jobs, checking on him, but he avoided their calls. He didn’t want to hear their questions about why he’d left Marc, didn’t want to hear their reasons as to why he should go back to Marc and beg for another chance. It was all he wanted to do, but he couldn’t. Marc was light and beauty. He made the world a better place by just being a part of it. Royce didn’t deserve that. He brought death and pain. He’d tried to leave that all behind when he joined Ward Security, but it still found him. There was no escaping it. And if he was with Marc, then he’d keep bringing that pain and suffering into Marc’s life.