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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

REED

I’ve spent the last two hours working on Mase’s divorce, and finally, I have some news he’s going to want to hear, so I made the call and told the guys to gather in my office.

With my arms crossed over my chest, I beam in Shaw’s direction, and he leads the guys into my room. “Oh god, he got laid.” He surmises. I mean, he’s not wrong, but that’s not the reason for my glowing disposition.

“Are you back to fucking multiple women?” Tate asks, and I glare back at him.

“My wife is pregnant. Why the fuck would I want any other woman?”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware you tied the knot. When the hell did this happen?” They all stare back at me as if I’m insane.

“Semantics.” I waft my hand toward them, and Mase stares back at me with wide eyes while the others start laughing.

“So, what’s the news?” Owen asks as he perches his wide ass on the meeting table. Jesus, the guy is built.

“Mase.” I tap my pen on my chin and spin in my chair to face him, and he shifts from foot to foot under my stare. “I have news.” He gulps, and the fear in his eyes makes me want to rip his wife apart for putting the look of vulnerability on my best friend’s face. He was once the life and soul of our party. He had a promising career in his father’s empire, and everything went to shit when he agreed to marry her. Her manipulation, her cheating, all her cruel taunts about him not being able to give them a child have taken a toll on the man before me.

“I’ve been working on your case.” He nods along to my words. “The judge has thrown out her dispute.”

Tate sits forward. “What’s that mean, exactly?”

“It means in a matter of days, you’re going to be a free man, my friend.” I grin at him.

Mase’s mouth falls open, and his eyes widen.

“Holy shit, man, that’s incredible!” Tate booms, and rushes toward him, then grabs him in a bear hug while Mase remains stunned to the spot. Tate pulls back. “Too bad thirsty Thursday is almost dried up now.” He’s referring to the bet we used to have on Thursdays of who can get their cock sucked the most. More often than not, I would win, based purely on the number of girls I would get to do it, whereas poor Mase never participated, being a married man.

Owen grins from ear to ear, and Shaw slaps Mase on the back, congratulating him.

Tate stills, and judging by the smile encompassing his face, I know whatever is about to come out of his mouth will be amusing, because his eyes dance with glee. “You know what this means, right?” We all wait for him to elaborate. “The Indulgence app Reed loves is going to get some hammer. We’re hooking you up with the best goddamn escorts in town.” His eyebrows waggle, but I remain shocked at his words.

“Loved,” I snap, and they stare back at me. “You said, Reed loves when referring to the app. It’s loved. Past tense.”

Tate rolls his eyes. “What-the-fuck-ever. You can give him some pointers.”

I throw my head back in the chair, with a groan and pinch the bridge of my nose, while the guys start asking Mase about what kind of woman he wants to fuck first.

This case has cost hundreds of thousands and been in the pipeline for years, and all they’re bothered about is getting Mase laid.

As long as he doesn’t fuck up and fall for an escort , I tell myself as I gather my phone and keys, ready to collect Bryce.

* * *

Shouting comes from the locker room, and I find myself moving faster. Jesus, is this the prick who’s teaching the kids during summer break?

My early years at boarding school come rushing back, with the booming voice ricocheting off the walls of the corridor.

“Reed. You’re a useless piece of shit,” the track coach spits out while I kick my sneaker into the ground. “Your daddy didn’t want you and now the team doesn’t want you. No wonder your family left you here.” My coach’s words fill my veins with disappointment. He’s right. I’m useless. “No fucker wants you.” A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of being alone.

I shake away the memory and move closer. “You’re a sniveling little girl. You know that? A coward. You’ll never amount to anything.” There’s no way in hell this guy is getting away with speaking to kids like this. I’ve been on the receiving end of this shit, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all a child.

“Do you have anything to say, Bryce?”

My blood freezes and my breath stills.

Bryce?

My nostrils flare with an uncontrollable rage.

No. Fucking. Way.

I throw open the door to the locker room so hard it bangs against the concrete wall, making the douche coach jump back, but not before I see how he was towering over Bryce. When Bryce’s eyes lock with mine and his tear-streaked face comes into focus, something inside of me snaps.

I stride toward the piece of shit so fast he doesn’t know what’s coming, then I land blow after blow against his jaw, causing blood to splatter across the linoleum floor and up the wall.

“Oh shit. Reed!” Bryce’s startled voice filters through the red haze, and I finally pull back to take in the coach. His face is red and swollen, and he groans as he rolls on the floor in a dramatic fashion.

“You’re fucking fired,” I clip out, and point down at him, and my fists twitch to continue the onslaught.

He coughs up some blood, then he winces. “You can’t fire me,” he splutters.

“Just you fucking watch, and I’m pressing charges,” I grit out, my heart racing with a wild fury struggling to remain hidden.

He sits up and wipes the blood from his mouth. “You’re pressing charges?” A strangled scoff bubbles from him, and his eyes fill with glee.

Oh, no, he fucking doesn’t. If he thinks he can blackmail me, he can think again.

“I’m an attorney, asshole. I eat scum like you for breakfast. What you just did was child abuse, and trust me when I say, I’m going to ruin you.”

He stumbles as he gets to his feet. “Hated the little bastards anyway,” he grunts, and I take a menacing step toward him, and the sad little sack of shit darts for the door.

When it clicks shut behind him, I stroke over my bloodied knuckles while surveying Bryce, who sits studying me.

“We don’t have a coach now.” His voice is solemn, but it’s his words that strike me. Was he okay with being spoken to like that in order to keep a coach? I glance around the locker room, taking in the broken doors and graffitied walls. Jesus, this place is abysmal. I rub at my temple to ease the budding tension.

Christ, is Gia okay with her son being here? An idea strikes me, an easy solution to all the problems right before my eyes.

“Would you like to move schools?”

Bryce rears back, as if stunned. “Fuck no. My friends are here.”

“Mind your language,” I chastise.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, then clears his throat. “My friends are here, and they’re good people. I like it here. Just he’s a bit of a d—” He swallows. “Dope.” And I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to call him a dope.

I mull over his words. His friends are here, and I know how important they are in one’s life, I’m not about to change that for him.

“Okay. No changing schools.” I stroke over my bottom lip and survey the hellhole. “We need to invest, though; this place is a shithole.”

“It is.” Bryce nods and glances around the small space.

“And you need a new coach. A decent one. I’ll find one for you.” I nod along to my own words and start making a mental list of everything that needs to change.

Bryce stands. “Well, we need one real quick. We have camp again tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“Going to do. Not gonna.”

He rolls his eyes, and I ignore him and open the cufflinks on my shirt, roll up my sleeves, then straighten my shoulders. “I’ll do it,” I declare with a newfound vigor.

His eyes widen, and a garbled sound leaves him, making me narrow my eyes. Is he becoming sick, possibly due to the trauma of the asshole screaming at him, or worse. “Did the coach ever touch you?”

Bryce stares back at me, his pupils bulge, and his mouth drops open. “W-what?”

“The coach, Bryce. Did he ever.” I scrub a hand over my head, then kneel so I’m level with him. “Did he touch you?”

“Ew. God no. I’d have kicked him in the nuts. Oh, and also, he likes my mom.”

I wobble on my heels as lightheadedness hits me. “What?”

“Yeah, he kept asking her out on a date.” He continues while my anger returns and seems to multiply. “My mom said to Tyson it was sleazy, asking a pregnant woman out.”

“I agree.” I nod profusely. If he thinks he’s getting away with no charges being brought against him, he can think again. I will dig up every sordid little detail of the sorry sack’s life.

But first, I need to remind Gia of who she belongs to, because the thought of anyone else touching my girl has me wanting to rip some fucker’s limbs from their lifeless, bloodied body. Then I need to take my girl on a date.