Page 92 of Kings Don't Break

“Blake!” I gasp again. I reach for his arm to try to stop him. “It doesn’t matter what they?—”

“Don’t touch me!” he growls. “Don’t say a fucking word, Kori! I don’t want to hear it.”

Shocked by the roughness in his voice, I fall silent. My heart’s still hammering inside my chest. My adrenaline’s as kicked up as his. The only difference being I’m worried, whereas he’s twitching, seething with anger.

Blake starts up the truck and pulls away from the curb so fast the tires screech.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. Your apartment. I’m dropping you off.”

“Then where are you—Blake, will you just calm down?”

“Not now, Kori. I don’t want to talk. Not even to you.”

Fear pricks me in a cold chill that spreads goosebumps on my skin. A Blake I’d hope I’d never see again is emerging—reckless and short-tempered and unpredictable. The Blake he’d been when I’d shook my head in disappointment and gone away to college.

I’d hoped he’d grown out of it…

Blake slams on the brakes outside my apartment building. His silence communicates he’s waiting for me to get out.

I unclick my seatbelt slowly. I’m stalling. “You should come up. I’ll… I’ll make you something. A real dinner since we didn’t?—”

“Kori, you better go.”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now. Please come up with me. Mama would love to see you.”

“Go.” He won’t look at me. Instead he glares straight ahead at the road that’s to come. The muscles in his throat work with every swallow, his jaw’s tighter than I’ve ever seen it.

I frown, on the brink of tears. “I’m so sorry. If I knew it would be like this?—”

“Kori. Get out.”

Hopping out of the truck, I barely have enough time to stand back before he’s gunning it. His truck jets off and spins sharply around the next street corner.

Instantly out of view. So far out of my reach.

20

BLAKE

I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going. But after I go home and trade out my truck for my bike, I drive for miles and miles. Flurries start up and slick the roads. The night darkens, growing harsher and more isolating. I push on anyway, riding through the biting wind that numbs my skin. Even with a bandanna draped across my face, the cold’s brutal.

I drive so far, I go straight out of town. I drive without seeing the present before me. My mind’s taken a deep dive into the past.

The saloon’s wilder than it’s ever been. Our biggest night of celebration in years let some of the older guys tell it.

Tom Cutler holds up his beer bottle and the rest of the Kings in the bar room follow suit. We raise our beers up and toast to our latest win for the club. We’ve successfully assassinated a key member in the Madrigal cartel that’s been causing us trouble.

The party goes on for hours. Some guys get so drunk they can’t see straight. They’re collapsing on the bar floor like it’s their bed at home. The club girls gyrate on the pool table and then wind up making out to hoots and hollers from the guys; they do a lot more than that once the guys get tired of watching and want in on the action.

A couple brawls break out. Belligerent fights that have a couple fists thrown before the score’s settled or it’s broken up by somebody slightly less fucked up.

Not that I’m any better. The room’s started turning hazy.

I swagger over to the counter where there’s a shot of whiskey waiting for me. Mace, Ozzie, and a couple of the others already have theirs. I pick up mine and toss it back with them. The burn feels so fucking good in the best way.

A refreshed sigh leaves me, then I wash it down with another swig of beer. Two club girls have cornered Mace, rubbing their asses on him. Ozzie’s climbed up on the bar counter and started screaming about breaking into the town zoo. Nobody takes him up on his offer.