Текст книги "A Pound of Flesh"

Автор книги: Sophie Jackson

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Carter sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Well, I need a goddamn shower. And a haircut and a good sleep in my own bed.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Carter, is that the best you can come up with?”

“No.” His face became serious. “I want to see my baby.”

Max grinned.

“Is she okay?” Carter asked. “Have you taken care of her?”

“She’s fucking gorgeous and, yes, I treated her as if she were my own.”

“Take me to her.”

He followed Max out of his apartment and galloped down the stairs of the building toward the private underground garage. Max flicked on the light switch and Carter gasped when he saw his pride and joy, looking so fucking spectacular, she took his breath away.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered.

He reached out to let the tips of his fingers touch the pristine leather seat of the black Harley-Davidson Sportster. Kala. He swallowed hard when he grasped her handlebars. It’d been too long. Max whistled and, as Carter turned, threw the Harley’s keys at him, which he caught against his chest. “She looks awesome, Max. Thank you.”

“She’s had an oil change and a polish. I did it myself, of course; I wouldn’t let those greasy-pawed dogs at the body shop anywhere near her, as much as they whined.”

Carter brushed his knuckles across the V-twin engine reverently. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed riding. A luscious image of his Peaches straddling his bike with her knees tight against his ribs as they rode to the coast, holding on to him while he pushed the bike hard and fast, slid lusciously into his mind. He discreetly adjusted himself and stood from his crouched position at the side of Kala, once more letting his hands glide over her exquisite metal.

“I’ll see your fine ass later,” he promised before he walked back over to Max and back up the stairs of the building.

“Okay, man, I have things to see and people to do.” Max smiled, leaning against Carter’s apartment door.

Carter frowned. His friend had aged considerably over the past few months. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. “You stay out of shit, you hear me?”

Max scoffed. “Everything’s cool, man.” But the glaze in his eyes suggested otherwise.

Max ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair and smiled nonchalantly. “Things are handled. No point getting stressed, right? I’ve learned that I can’t control shit.” He sniffed.

“Max—”

Max clapped a hand to Carter’s shoulder. “I’ll be back later with food and women. About seven, okay?”

Carter sighed, holding his tongue. “Sounds good.” He and Max clasped hands and stared at each other for a moment in silent understanding.

“It is good to have ya home, man,” Max muttered.

“It feels good.”

Max squeezed Carter’s hand. “For what you did for me and– To get put away when you weren’t even … I can’t ever thank you enough—”

“Hey,” Carter interrupted. “It’s all good, brother. I owed you.”

Max exhaled hard, anguish and heartbreak clear on his face. “Yeah. I’ll see ya later.”

Once Max left, Carter closed the door and fell against it with a loud sigh. He glanced around his apartment, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. At Kill he’d had a routine, a schedule, people to tell him when and where he needed to be. Now he was free to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Within reason. It felt strange.

With a despondent exhale, he glanced at the clock on the wall and his mind instantly went to Peaches. She’d be in class right now with Riley and company.

Outrageously, jealousy bloomed in his stomach. “Get a grip, idiot,” he muttered. He grabbed his beer from the counter and made his way to his bedroom.

He’d have Peaches all to himself come Tuesday evening, anyway. He smiled while he stripped off his clothes and made his way to the shower. He was more than ready to wash away all remnants of Kill from both his body and his mind.

12

Kat pulled her bag up onto her shoulder as she made her way into the library. She walked toward the grand welcome desk and smiled at Mrs. Latham, who’d worked at the library for decades. She was there the day the Daniel Lane Reading Room opened after his passing.

“Good afternoon, Kat,” she said, pushing her glasses up her small nose. Her whole face, surrounded by curly gray hair, wrinkled when she smiled.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Latham. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. You’re here to use the reading room?” She flicked through a schedule book on her desk.

“I am.” Kat extended a printout. “I’ve booked it indefinitely for these days at these times.”

“Ah, here we are, dear.” She handed Kat the sign-in sheet, which was empty. Carter hadn’t arrived yet.

Kat signed her name. “When my student gets here, can you tell him to come straight through once he’s signed in?”

“Of course.”

Kat wandered through the immaculate building toward the reading room constructed as part of her father’s wishes in his will. Kat had always loved to read and her father had wanted to create somewhere that not only she but other people could go to lose themselves in the pages they read.

His plan was to do it before his fiftieth birthday, which he never saw.

Kat dropped her bags onto one of the large oak tables and sat down. She pulled out all her resources for Carter so they could get straight to work. She didn’t want to dilly-dally. She got flustered enough in his presence.

The truth was, after seeing Carter so … civilian, as he left Kill, Kat had finally accepted that maaaaaybe she had a wee crush. The vision of his buzz cut and bright blue eyes, his body wrapped in a tight T-shirt and low-riding jeans, accosted Kat once again.

Why did it have to be the Ramones? She loved the Ramones. She loved them even more stretched across Carter’s wide chest and large biceps. She’d been unable to tear her eyes from his tattoo, either. Cursive black and red flames of delicious ink dressed his skin to the elbow of one arm and to the wrist of the other; the intricate vines, patterns, and words she couldn’t quite make out were stunning.

And very, very sexy.

Dammit. She’d been a train wreck. All she’d wanted to do was thank him for the amazingly thoughtful birthday present he’d given her and she’d ended up stammering like an idiot.

It was so stupid, and not simply because she was the teacher and he was her student (how cliché). Carter was from a different world. He was a different species to her, and not because of his criminal past, although that was definitely a factor. He was angry and big-headed, hostile, and cocky. He was everything she should run away from, screaming. But she couldn’t deny he was equally smart, sensitive, and funny.

Christ, what a mess. Why couldn’t he be a normal guy? Like Austin.

She glanced at her cell phone. Austin had texted her twice since the morning to wish her luck with Carter and to tell her that he was thinking of her. He was impossibly sweet, but still the uneasiness remained.

Kat started as if struck by a lightning bolt.

Was Carter the reason she was so damned uneasy with Austin? Was he the cause of the heaviness in her stomach, the discomfort, the whisper of wariness, and the reason her heart galloped?

Shit. She pushed her bangs from her face. Enough was enough. Kat knew she had to grow up and stop acting like a teenager. It was her first session with Carter outside of Kill and, by God, she was going to act like the professional she was.

Resolute, she crossed her legs and waited.

As the minutes passed, her foot began to tap the leg of the table. Fifteen minutes went by and she was still alone. And now pissed.

She checked her phone for any missed calls or texts from him. Nothing. She bit the inside of her mouth in fury. She should have known he’d let her down. He was a newly released criminal who had wild oats to sow. Why the hell would he waste time with her, even if it was part of the conditions of his parole? She was stupid to think that he’d meant it when he’d said he wanted to keep their sessions going.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and, with a string of quiet expletives, Kat began to pack her things. Screw him. If he didn’t want to take it seriously, why should she care?

A hand on her shoulder made her scream.

“Shit! Don’t!” Carter urged with his hand out to her in surrender. “Fuck. It’s me.”

She clutched a palm to her forehead, gasping for breath. “Christ. You scared me.”

“No shit,” he replied while his eyes danced up and down her body, making her stomach tighten. He grumbled something and ran a hand across his hair. A hand that, Kat noticed, was covered in oil.

In fact, most of him was covered in oil.

She studied him from head to toe. His hair was shorter; he’d obviously made a trip to the barber. His face was, as always, epically handsome, but now it had a smear of oil across its right cheek. His T-shirt, which was a black Strokes affair, was tight and dirty, and his jeans, Kat could only assume, used to be blue denim.

“What the hell happened to you?” She tried to ignore the twist of lust that unfolded in her belly when she saw the bike helmet in his hand.

Carter smirked. “I had a fight with a V8 engine and lost. That’s why my ass is late.”

The cocky look on his face reminded Kat she was pissed. She stood up and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, you’re late,” she growled. “So the session is canceled.” She whirled back around to continue throwing her resources back in her bag.

Carter’s laugh was disbelieving. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Kat snapped, keeping her back to him. “You’re late, and I’m not here for shits and giggles while you mess around with your toys. You didn’t even text or call to let me know!”

Carter grabbed her arm and spun her until she faced him. She gulped at the anger on his face.

“Hey,” he barked, his nose only inches from hers. “Stop bitching and throwing shit for a minute, and calm the fuck down.”

She caught his scent in her nose and on the tip of her tongue. It was deep, smoky, and metallic and made her lungs tingle.

“Let. Me. Go,” she ordered through gritted teeth.

Carter stared at his hand on her arm and let go immediately. “Sorry,” he muttered, though his eyes were still thunderous. “Look, don’t leave, okay? Just let me explain.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. Explain.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed. “As stated in my parole,” he started through tight lips, “my job is working at a body shop that my best friend owns.” He gestured at the oil all over his clothes. “Max was having trouble with the engine on a Corvette. I offered to help just before I left and it went to shit. I would have called or texted you, but I was busy making sure that two-hundred-pound engine parts weren’t falling onto the heads of my coworkers.”

Kat considered what he’d said. He was so masculine and strong, standing in his dirty clothes with a day’s worth of stubble. He oozed carnal sex. When he’d gripped her arm he hadn’t hurt her, of course, but the sizzle of his hands on her was hard to ignore. It was still there, buzzing deep inside her in places only he could reach.

She dropped her arms and shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry. What?” Carter bent down so he was eye level with her.

“I said fine. Let’s get on with it,” she retorted sharply. Condescending ass. She gestured brusquely to the chair on the other side of the table.

Carter dropped into the chair and began rummaging through his bag as Kat watched surreptitiously. He pulled out a large pack of Oreo cookies and placed them on the table.

Kat gaped. She hadn’t had an Oreo in years. She’d never been able to bring herself to, since they were a thing she and her dad had had. He’d always eat the center; she’d eat the cookie. Together they could demolish a whole pack in minutes. “You’re not allowed to eat in here.”

He glanced around the otherwise empty room. “Are you gonna tell on me?”

Kat sat down with a thump. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“Sure, Peaches.” He took a cookie, pulled it apart, and licked the cream center.

Fascinated, Kat watched his tongue as it flicked up, down, and around. How could eating a cookie be so sensual, for God’s sake? She cleared her throat and pushed his work toward him. He put the two cookie parts back together and rested them carefully on a napkin.

Carter perused the paper in front of him. He looked up to see her staring at the remains of his Oreo. “What? You want my cookie?”

“You … um, you only eat the inside?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “I don’t really care for the rest of it. You’re free to have the side I haven’t had my tongue all over.”

Her cheeks flamed. “No. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, the offer’s there. And don’t worry”—he dropped his voice—“I won’t tell, either.”

Kat held her smile. Barely. “Tell me what you know about this poem.”

He glanced down. “Well, well. This is quite a change from ‘Tichborne’s Elegy.’ You make me blush.”

Kat waved her hand for him to continue.

“ ‘The Flea’ by Donne takes a usually insignificant action—killing a flea—and turns it into a sexually deviant metaphor.”

“Sexually deviant?” Kat questioned with a thick throat. His dark gaze and sexy smirk were not what she needed to stay focused and professional.

Carter dropped his chin. “Don’t get coy with me, Peaches. You know as well as I do the poem is about Donne wanting to fuck his mistress.”

The way his mouth curved around the word “fuck” made Kat’s pulse race. “Care to elaborate?”

“When Donne talks of the blood that the flea has taken from both him and his mistress, he’s talking about sex, their bodies coming together.”

“Hmm,” Kat mused, keeping her eyes on the table and away from the devastatingly long lashes that swept over Carter’s cheekbones.

Carter shifted his chair closer to her. “Is that an I agree with everything you just said, Carter hmm, or a You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about hmm?”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right,” Kat said, looking down at the table, cursing her choice of poem. What the hell had she been thinking?

Without word or hesitation, Carter pushed her hair behind her ear and lifted her face to his. The sensation of his callused fingers against her skin shot through her body like a bullet.

“Peaches,” he murmured. “Where are you? You’re miles away.”

“I was just thinking … I know there’s a critique on this poem here somewhere.” She pulled her chin from his fingers and stood up. “I’ll go and find it. Why don’t you make some notes on your copy so we can discuss them when I get back?”

She hurried toward the shelves holding all the literature and critical works of each of them. She had to get away from him.

* * *

Carter watched her go and slouched down in his seat. He picked up another Oreo and began to lick.

Had he done too much with the hair-and-chin thing? Fuck if he knew. He didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of the no-guard, no-camera situation, although he’d thought about nothing but that since the minute he’d woken up. Dammit, recently she was all he thought about.

Three Oreos later, she still wasn’t back. He checked the time on his cell and blew out an impatient breath.

“Fuck this,” he grumbled, standing from his chair. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered in the direction she’d disappeared.

“Peaches?” he stage-whispered, searching each aisle.

He’d checked four of the motherfuckers before he finally found her standing on a tall ladder, reaching for a book on the highest shelf. He walked up to her, slowly and silently, his eyes level with the backs of her calves. He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of the soft creamy skin. She hadn’t noticed him standing there, leaning against the shelves, tracing the curve of her leg with his gaze. His hand twitched of its own volition and, before he had any comprehension of what he was doing, he was reaching out to stroke the back of her knee.

“Carter!”

He jumped at her screech but then righted himself as she wobbled on the step and slipped back, grabbing at the books in an effort to stop her fall. He clutched at her waist, grazing the undersides of her magnificent boobs, making sure she didn’t hit the floor. She landed against him, resulting in a resounding “Oomph” when his back collided with the opposite bookshelf.

“Seriously, Carter, that’s twice today you’ve scared the hell out of me,” she grumbled, pushing away from him.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” he muttered, rubbing the bottom of his spine. “I just saved your life.”

“You’re the one who made me fall,” she pointed out.

She’d taken a step back from him. What the hell was that about? He shifted near her, placing the flat of his palm against the spines of the books at the side of her face. He could smell her hair. Fuck. It did still smell of peaches.

“Is everything all right, Miss Lane?”

The two of them startled at Mrs. Latham’s voice. Carter blinked, realizing how close they’d been standing to each other.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Peaches replied to the old woman, who was eyeing Carter. He smirked.

“I heard a scream.” She adjusted her glasses.

“Yeah,” Carter interrupted. “That was me. I saw a spider. Fucking huge. I’m terrified of them. Kat saved me.”

He flashed her his trademark smile to seal the deal, but the small librarian didn’t look impressed.

“Well, as long as you’re okay, Miss Lane.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Latham,” Peaches assured her.

The old lady took one more disapproving look at Carter before disappearing back toward her desk. Peaches collapsed into giggles. He laughed, too, watching her nose crease up and emit a small snort.

“Spiders,” she managed.

“What?” he asked, resting against the bookshelf next to her. “I hate them.”

She shook her head. “You’re one of a kind, Mr. Carter.”

He beamed. “You know it.”

They stared at each other for a small moment, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, before Peaches slapped the large book she’d grappled from the shelf into Carter’s stomach.

“Jesus!”

“Here,” she said with a smile. “Let’s find out more about your deviant sexual metaphors.”

Carter laughed and watched her fine ass walk away. “I thought you’d never ask,” he muttered, following quickly after her.

13

“Fuck it!”

Carter looked up from the screwed-up carburetor in his hand to see Max kicking the tire rim of the V8 Pontiac GTO he’d been cursing at for the past hour.

Carter walked over to him, wiping his grease-covered hands on a rag he pulled from his pocket. “Whoa, whoa, man, chill out. We don’t hit the ladies. What’s up?”

Max threw his hands through his hair. “This piece of crap.” He gestured toward the car.

Carter’s eyes widened in mock horror. He placed his palms against the driver’s door of the burnt-orange vehicle. “Don’t listen, baby,” he whispered to the car. “He doesn’t mean it.”

Max shook his head. “Whatever, man, I’m done.”

Carter frowned and propped his forearm on the car roof. “You’re done?” he asked in a baiting tone. “You give up so easy?”

“No,” Max snapped back defensively. “I just can’t—the fucking thing’s still idling high and– For fuck’s sake, Cam, turn that fucking shit down!”

Cam scurried to the stereo in the corner of the room and turned the Foo Fighters down to a dull roar.

Carter kept his stare on Max, knowing there was more to his bitching than the car’s high idling.

Max turned away from Carter’s meaningful look and opened a can of Coke he then proceeded to gulp. Once it was gone, he turned back to his friend, falling against the wall before sliding down. His eyes met Carter’s briefly before explaining quietly, “My blood sugar’s low, man.”

Having been diagnosed with hypoglycemia when he was a kid, Max managed to keep his blood sugar on a fairly normal level, but he was a cranky son of a bitch when it dropped. Carter reached into his back pocket and retrieved his bag of mini Oreos, throwing them at his friend.

Max put one in his mouth and hummed in pleasure. He offered the bag to Carter, who took two for himself.

“So, what else is up?” Carter asked after a moment of Oreo-appreciative silence. Max averted his eyes from Carter, who dropped to the floor next to him. “Since when do we keep secrets, Max?”

“I don’t have any secrets,” Max answered with a shake of his head. He looked so weary. “You know all there is to know.”

“Oh, really?” Carter countered. “So, if I know everything, when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re doin’ blow on the regular again?”

Max kept his eyes on the floor between his feet. “It’s just recreational, man.”

“I thought you were going to cut that shit out,” Carter said in exasperation.

“I know. I tried; you know I did. But it takes the edge off.” He rubbed his face with a somnolent hand. “I’m not … I’m not sleeping great. Truthfully, I haven’t slept great since … since she … Look, it gives me a boost.”

Carter’s stomach clenched for his friend and his inability to speak about the woman who’d broken his heart. He looked so lost. He nudged Max’s shoulder with his own. “I’m here if you wanna talk about Liz—”

Max’s head snapped up, his eyes burning. “Don’t.”

Carter sighed. “Okay. But you need to be honest with me.” Carter gave Max a pointed stare, which Max accepted with a slow nod.

Honesty had always been so important to the friendship they’d built over the years: honesty and trust.

“Dude, you look like shit. Your temper’s raw. You’re handling an expensive habit. Paul told me the books for the shop aren’t good. If you kick this shit, you know I can help you with the money side of—”

Max shook his head. “No, Carter. I don’t want your money. I’ve told you before.”

“It’s not my money,” Carter bit back. “It’s Ford money.”

“Whatever,” Max continued. “I’m not taking it. After you went to Kill for me and Liz …” He trailed off, the name clogging his throat with emotion. Then he coughed a bitter, cold laugh. “What a waste of fucking time that was.”

“Have you heard from her?” Carter hedged softly. Max rarely spoke of the woman who, by walking out on him and disappearing without even a “fuck you,” had shattered his heart six months after Carter was sent to Kill.

Max shook his head before he dropped it back against the wall. “Nothing. Not even a fucking text. Nothing since the day she left.”

Carter placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and squeezed, hating what Lizzie Jordan had done to his best friend. Because of her, the son of a bitch was brokenhearted and nursing a coke habit that was liable to land him in prison, or worse.

“The offer’s there, okay?” Carter said softly. “I’ve got your back, man, you know that, but I’m on parole. I gotta watch my back, too.”

His parole wasn’t the only reason to keep his nose clean, though. Contrary to popular belief, he’d pulled away from all the drug shit a year before he was sent to Kill.

“It’s all good,” Max said, his mask of indifference sliding over the pain. “It’s under control, I promise. Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys next week for a sweet deal that’ll clear everything. You want in?”

Carter’s infuriated eye roll made Max laugh. “Asshole. Yeah, let me just call my parole officer and ask if that’s okay.” He thumped Max’s arm. “You be fucking careful, you hear me?”

Carter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Standing and moving away from Max, he pulled it from his overalls and smiled.

Peaches.

Try not to be late again.

“That your tutor?” Max asked with a knowing smile. “Shit, son, when you gonna hit that?”

“Shut up,” Carter grumbled.

Max laughed again, his game face back on. “What’s with you and her, huh? Is it that way?”

Carter cleared his throat. “No,” he breathed. “It’s not that way.” He licked his lips and looked at his best friend.

“Sure,” Max teased. “If you haven’t boned already you’re desperate to, man. It’s written all over you. Not that I blame you. Damn.”

Carter held back the growl of possessiveness that threatened to creep up his throat. “It’s complicated.” He paused. “She’s … she’s Peaches.”

Max’s eyes popped wide. “Peaches? The girl in the Bronx, with the dad who– No shit?”

Carter raised his eyebrows. “Shit.”

The night Carter had saved her, he’d told Max everything. It was only then, with his friend at his side, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the sound of gunfire still resonating around his head, that he’d openly wept from the fear.

Max scrambled from his place on the floor. “Does she know? I mean, have you said anything to her?”

Carter clutched the bridge of his nose. “No. I haven’t. I wouldn’t even know where the fuck to start.”

Max crossed his arms over his chest. “I hear ya.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “Damn, brother, after all these years. You found her.”

Carter smiled small and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Max smacked a playful hand to Carter’s biceps. “Get on that. Girl done grown up good.”

Carter snorted. No shit. Though Max’s suggestion that he hit it and quit it would ordinarily have his panty-dissolving smolder firmly in place, with his Peaches it seemed too … crass. She deserved more than that.

He glanced at the clock. It was three fifteen. Less than one hour until he saw her. He texted back.

I wouldn’t dare.

And he was only half kidding. He’d been more than a little surprised at her reaction to his tardiness at their first session. She’d looked ready to rip his head off, and he could see where she was coming from, but, damn, girl had a temper. Not that he was one to talk. But after the whole stern-talking-to, falling-off-ladder debacle, the session had gone pretty well.

It was strange how time passed so fast when he was with Peaches. It seemed so easy to be with her. He liked her sass and enthusiasm. It made him remember his own love of the written word, and he liked talking to her about the writer’s word choices and the intricacies of it all.

In fact, he liked talking to her, period. Talking to her—and now touching her. He couldn’t help but think about how soft her hair was when he’d pushed it behind her ear, or the silkiness of her skin at the back of her knee. Would her skin be that soft all over?

He cleared his throat and shook his head of the image of her wrapped around him as he pounded into her among the bookshelves.

Christ.

He wanted more. And not just in the let-me-see-what-you-look-like-naked sense.

What would it be like just to have an everyday conversation with her? The day she’d spoken about her father and the book he read to her was one of the best days he’d had inside Kill. He’d gotten a glimpse of the Kat Lane who existed outside of the prison walls, and now that he, too, was outside, he wanted very much to see more.

What might her reaction be if he asked her some more personal questions? Only questions about her likes and dislikes, not like her bra size or anything—though he’d wondered about that shit, too. They looked like they would fit in his hands perfectly. His body immediately reacted to that particular thought, which was more than a little embarrassing when he was surrounded by a bunch of guys.

His body still seemed to find it impossible to settle down when he was around her or when he thought about her. Regardless, as much as he would have loved to suggest they just get fucking down to it, he knew she wasn’t that type of girl. He was fairly certain that if he ever heard of any man treating her that way, he would have no problem with fucking. Their. Shit. Up.

His possessiveness could be a problem.

“Carter?”

He came from his thoughts and looked at Cam, who was motioning toward the entrance of the body shop.

“There’s a guy here to see you, man.”

“Who?” Carter asked, putting his coffee down.

Cam shrugged. “No clue. He just said he needed to talk to you urgently.”

“Don’t they all.”

He stopped midstride when he saw who was waiting for him on the sidewalk outside the shop, in a suit that must have cost at least two thousand dollars. Carter cursed and rubbed his palm down his face in aggravation.

“Austin Ford.”

Austin nodded. “Carter.”

There was a moment of overwrought stillness while the two men observed each other. Impatient as always, Carter was the first to break it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with an incensed shake of his head.

“You haven’t been returning any of our calls,” Austin answered, his tone calm and arrogant.

“You dipshits can’t bully me on the phone, so you decide to come down and do it in person?” he retorted.

“We’re not bullying you, Carter. These papers need signing.”

Carter pulled his smokes from his back pocket and lit one, taking a huge drag. He pointed at Austin with the cigarette still between his fingers. “Those papers were drawn up without my consent as a way of shifting me out of the picture. That, my friend, is fucking bullying: underhanded, conceited bullying.”

“Carter.” Austin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want anything to do with the company. You’ve said that time and time again, yet when we offer you a way out, you dig in your heels and say no.”

“Bullshit,” Carter snapped. “You’re offering me a way out because the Fords are scared shitless that WCS shareholders will find out your company is owned by a criminal. Ironic, really, when you consider the men you’ve been making deals with. Casari ring any bells?”

Austin’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “Carter. Rumors aside, we’re family—”

Carter’s eyes blazed. “Don’t play the family card with me, Austin.” He flicked his cigarette away, missing Austin’s left arm by millimeters. “You weren’t my fucking family when I was doing time in prison, so don’t pretend you give a shit now!”

Austin held his hands up in submission. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

“No,” Carter continued, stepping toward him. “You don’t get it. We may be related, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t think twice about laying your ass out, right here and now, just on general principle.”

Austin refused to back down, even when Carter was nose to nose with him. “That wouldn’t be too good for your parole, now, would it?”

“Fuck you, you sanctimonious shit,” Carter hissed. “Don’t stand there looking down your nose at me like you’re cleaner than a nun’s bedsheets. I could make one phone call about your dealings with Casari and the Feds would be all over your ass.”

“And of course you have proof about Casari and me, right?”

The two men glared at each other, neither blinking nor stepping back.

“We okay here?”

Austin’s eyes flickered toward Max, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his wide chest.