Shaken (Twisted Fox #2) - Charity Ferrell Page 0,55

bad idea.”

We do, but I don’t care.

“So?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Why?”

He licks his lower lip. “From the way you’re staring at me and how you look tonight, our night would end the same as our night at Bailey’s.”

I scan the yard, making sure we’re still alone, and lower my voice. “What if that’s what I want?”

“It can be what you want, but it’s not what you need.”

“How do you know what I need?”

“I know what you don’t need—someone who can never give you what you deserve. I’m that guy.”

I sweep my arm over the table, where the gifts are, before running my hand over the necklace chain. “Why show up here with the gifts then?”

“I didn’t buy you those gifts so you’d sleep with me. I bought them because you deserve that and more.” He briefly slams his eyes shut and bows his head, and his voice is half-whispered. “There are times I wish I could be the guy to make you happy. I might be a heartless bastard, an asshole, but when it comes to you, I stop myself from being the man who crushes your heart.”

“Yet you are crushing it,” I croak out.

“Babe, trust me.” Slowly, he rises to his feet, kisses the top of my head, and says, “Good night, Georgia.”

I don’t get a chance to say a word before he leaves.

27

Archer

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Lincoln says, tossing his bag on my guest room bed. “Guarantee this shit is more comfortable than what I was sleeping on.”

It’s the first time my guest room has been used, but since he’s been sleeping on a concrete slab for years, I wanted him to be comfortable here. Like the rest of my family, Lincoln grew up with the finer things in life: family trips on yachts, disposable money to blow on whatever we wanted—a lot of times it was blow—and nice-ass bedrooms. I can at least give him the last one of the three.

“I got you,” I say behind him, stopping in the doorway and leaning against the door. “How’s it feel, being a free man?”

He’s four hours free, and damn, it’s been a long day. I learned prisons are in no rush to release inmates. My mom and I waited six hours before he stepped out of the building. Our first stop was his favorite restaurant, where he ate his weight in steak and lobster.

I yawn, and my eyes are heavy as he spins and takes in the bedroom. It’s almost midnight, and I worked until three this morning. Had I known his release day would be as long as it takes for people to land on the moon, I would’ve left early and had someone cover for me.

“Damn good,” he mutters with a hint of a frown. “Sucks Dad wasn’t released with me.” He slumps onto the edge of the California king-size bed and hangs his head low, shaking it. “I offered to take a longer sentence to shorten his, but the assholes wouldn’t allow it.”

He did what?

This is the first I’m hearing about his little act of stupidity.

I clench my fists. “Why in the living hell would you do that?” There’s no masking the aggravation in my tone.

“He’s family,” Lincoln points out, peeved, exhaustion overplaying his features. “That—loyalty to our family—might not mean as much to you as it does to me, but Dad’s older, and he has heart problems. He doesn’t need to be in there.”

I unclench a fist and slam my hand against my chest. “Are you saying I have no loyalty?”

“You have loyalty to me, sure. To others? Not so much. This stupid game you and Dad have played for years is draining to everyone around you. What happened that night—”

“Don’t,” I warn, cutting him off. “Don’t play that. Whether that happened or not, I still wouldn’t be Dad’s puppet to his bullshit.”

“You threw away your life!” He starts naming off a list on his fingers. “Your job. Your friends. Your family. The woman you were supposed to fucking marry. All because you couldn’t get the fuck out of your head and deal with reality.” He shakes his head. “I’m not a fucking puppet. I’m living—unlike you.”

I didn’t plan on us being at each other’s throats his first night home. I knew there’d eventually be a conversation about Dad and some back-and-forth shit, talking about loyalty, but nothing this early.

“Oh, piss off,” I mutter. “Get off your high horse.”

“High horse? I took the job intended for you. You always do what’s

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