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“And that’s why you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it. What the people don’t know won’t hurt them. They want agoodpreacher, but what I do in my private life doesn’t really matter so long as they have someone wholookslike a good man. Because if they like me, they must not be so bad.”
Adam struggles against the bouncer’s grip on his arms. I wince again as his expression contorts from anger to anguish, the pain evident in his features. He looks like his entire world is collapsing, and I’m starting to think it is.
“Hold him,” Truett grunts.
The air is sucked from my lungs as I step closer, but Brett’s hand on my arm stops me.
What is happening?
The bouncer squeezes Adam’s arms even tighter behind his back and my stomach drops.
“I’m your father, so it’s my job to teach you a lesson. And your first lesson is a little humility because you’ve frightened that sweet girl and you’ve embarrassed me at this club.”
Truett rears back his fist and lets it fly. The smack as it lands hard against Adam’s face is audible, and I let out a scream at the sound.
“Stop!” I yelp.
Brett yanks me toward him as Truett lands another hard punch.
Adam spits blood onto the floor as he lifts his head back up to face his father.
“You never did fight fair,” he growls.
“Life isn’t fair, Adam. Grow up.” With that, he jolts forward, cracking Adam hard in the stomach with his fist. Adam folds over in pain, and I tear myself out of Brett’s grasp.
Before he can grab me again, I thrust myself between the two men, putting a hand out to stop Truett from throwing another punch.
“Enough!”
He grimaces at me before glancing over at Brett. My teeth grind together as I see the two men sharing a silent conversation, and I realize, at this moment, I’m really out. Out of this club. Out of my relationship. Out of a lot of money.
“Get him out of here,” Truett says darkly as he turns his back to me.
I send one glaring expression toward Brett before I push the bouncer toward the door. He’s practically dragging Adam as he moans, looking like he’s about to pass out.
Fucking men.
As I push open the heavy door that leads to the back of the club, the bouncer tosses Adam out, and he rolls onto the dirty pavement with a groan.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I argue, but the guy only shrugs as he disappears back into the club.
“Assholes!” I shout in frustration, banging my fist on the heavy metal door. Rage is bubbling up inside me and I let it all out with a wailing scream.
Behind me, Adam groans again.
When I turn around, I find him struggling to his feet. He’s still clearly drunk and bleeding like crazy from his nose. As he gets to a standing position, he sucks in a breath through his teeth, wincing with pain and grabbing his ribs.
Probably bruised a few of those.
I’m standing here with a few choices. Go back inside the club with Truett and Brett and leave Adam Goode to fend for himself.
Or I get in my car and drive home—again, leaving Adam Goode to fend for himself.
Shit.
“Come on,” I say, sliding my hand under his arm and guiding him toward the employee parking lot on the left.
“Where are you taking me?”
