“I’m going to need a neurologist soon.” I direct the comment at Liv.
“Nah. I’ve seen Ky punch you harder. Like when he caught you kissing Hannah Carter behind the Den.”
“They were on a break,” I defend my actions.
“Just sayin’.” She shrugs.
“I’m sorry, but you’re who again?” The question from Hawk isn’t polite.
“She’s the Bowman’s fucking daughter, and you better change that fucking backhanded tone, or I’ll give you a motherfuckin’ shiner to match mine.” I shoot off the bed and charge Hawk, the tension in the room escalating again.
“Whoa.” Ky throws himself between us, grilling me as if he sees me in a whole new light.
“Which shiner exactly?” Hawk mocks my fucked-up face.
I turn up the middle finger nice and loud. “This one, motherfucker.”
“All right, enough,” Ky squashes our tiff. “You in that corner, and you in this one.” He separates us like children. Ironic, since he was throwing a temper tantrum not five minutes ago.
“We need to talk. Alone,” Ky insists. “Put some clothes on.”
“Can’t wait,” I gripe under my breath.
Ky pins me with a pissed-off stare. He isn’t having any backtalk.
I freshen up on the fly before I pull on the jeans I was wearing last night and a clean T-shirt. Running my fingers through my hair, I catch sight of the hot mess I’ve recently become. Jesus, I really am a fucking train wreck. No wonder Liv wants nothing to do with me.
I shrug on my cut and head back into Liv’s room. I don’t like what I find one bit.
“What’s all this?” Hawk is carrying her suitcase, and she’s changed into day clothes. My throat closes. Worry choking me. Anger blinding me. I want to cut Hawk’s hand off for even touching her shit.
Ky crosses his tattooed arms superciliously. “I’m getting Liv out of this fucking shithole. I’m putting her up in our hotel. If our conversation goes well, Imaytake you with us.”
This chat is going to fucking suck.
Liv sends me a sympathetic smile over her shoulder before she follows Hawk out the front door.
The dumpy motel room feels exactly the same way it did before she got here.Empty.
“Movin’ on up.” Knuckles punches me in the arm. He doesn’t hold back either, knocking me off balance. “See you on the flip side.” His deep baritone is as annoying as a blow horn.
“Flip side. Right,” I grumble.
“Breaker, let’s bounce.” Slash rushes me. “Fender and Hawk have it from here. And I’m hungry.”
“Lucky for you, there’s a decent diner right up the street,” I inform him petulantly.
“Fantastic,” he fires back condescendingly.
We head to the diner Liv and I ate at just last night. That meal wasn’t so pleasurable either.
We sit at the same booth and order the same thing, burgers and fries and chocolate milkshakes. It’s like a psychedelic déjà vu.
And once the waitress leaves, Slash unleashes his full wrath on me.
“You went to my fucking father.” It isn’t a question; it’s an accusation.
“I didn’t want to get you involved,” I try to defend my actions.
