Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,58

around him and his big, bad temper.

I guess I’m not the only naive one around here.

“I didn’t mean it like that, kitten—”

“Ryker, can you take me home?” I interrupt.

Ryker lets his brother’s arms drop, and Gunner rushes toward me. His arms envelope my waist before I can back away.

“Don’t touch me right now. I don’t want you near me,” I say, putting my hands flat against his chest and pushing him away.

“Don’t do this,” Gunner pleads, pulling me closer. “Please. Not after tonight. I thought we had everything worked out. I thought things were going to be okay.”

“They were. But you screwed it up!” I lock eyes with him, his so confused and hurt, I’d feel sorry for him if he hadn’t stomped on my trust tonight. My voice shakes, but I tell him what I need to say. “You promised you’d let me handle my career. You promised you’d back off. You promised you trusted me. But you don’t. Because if you did, that man wouldn’t be sitting there with a broken nose. If you did, I’d be going home with you right now to make love to you all night.”

“Kitten—” Gunner steps away from me, but still reaches for my hand. “Let me at least drive you home.”

I throw a hand up and press him away. “I’m not doing this right now. Ryker? Can you take me home or not?”

Ryker’s eyes dart from me to Gunner. “Sure thing, Harlow.”

I run my index finger along Gunner’s wrist, along my name that’s marked on him permanently.

“Goodbye, Gunner,” I say. I let my nail slice over my name on his skin, crossing it out. Walking away.

CHAPTER 14

GUNNER

“She got home alright?” I ask Ryker as I pace the floor like a wild man. “And before you answer, know that if you laid a single fucking finger on her, I’ll end you.”

My brother smirks. Fucking smirks, like the good-for-nothing son-of-a-bitch that he is.

“Course I didn’t touch her, bro. Easy.”

He rounds my kitchen island and grabs the bottle of gin I’ve been nursing since I got home, and pours himself a glass.

“Help yourself,” I sneer.

“Hey, I just did you a favor, you could be a little nicer to me,” he says before he knocks back a triple shot.

I slam my fist into the counter as I walk by. I refuse to hit the oak cabinetry or any of the appliances, but I’ll hit the granite to work out some of my frustrations, broken knuckles be damned. “What exactly was the favor?”

Ryker raise an eyebrow at me. “Getting your girl home safe. She sure as shit didn’t want you around. Can’t say I blame her, you acted like a goddamn loose cannon back there.”

I finish my drink and pour another. “You’re one to talk, Ryker.”

“True. But I own up to my worthlessness. You’re still trying to convince yourself that you’re anything but a Hunt through and through.” He takes a long drink from his tumbler. “What you are is the worst kind of slacker. You’re going to break that sweet thing’s heart, and deep down, in there,” Ryker thumps my chest where my heart is, “you know it. Everyone knows it. I bet even Harlow knows it, she’s just hoping with everything in her that she’s wrong. That she’s different. Because girls like that, they believe in fairytales. And you, my brother, are not fairy tale material.”

“Get out,” I growl.

Ryker finishes off his drink and backs out of the kitchen. “Chill, I’m going. I don’t mean any harm by that, brother. Don’t come and beat my ass, too. I’m just looking out for you.”

“You’re the last person I need looking out for me.”

“Oh, and Gunner,” he says. “You’d think owning a bar you could at least keep decent booze in your house. That gin tastes like shit.”

“Get the fuck out, Ryker.”

I grip the neck of the bottle as I wait for the sound of my front door slamming shut and the roar of Ryker’s bike down my long gravel driveway. I want to toss the bottle through the china cabinet on the other side of the kitchen just to watch the glass fly.

I hate my brother.

I hate that douche at the bar.

And I fucking hate myself. I spent so long trying to convince Harlow that I was anything but good enough for her, to try to push her away. And tonight, now that I’ve finally succeeded in doing it—now that I’ve seen the look of disgust and distrust in Harlow’s eyes—all I want to do