Page 64 of Ruthless Lord

“That’s why I have the protein.” I glare at her as I grab my keys. “I don’t need nutrition tips from you.”

“Sure about that? I bet I could make you feel five years younger.”

I rub the small of my back. My knees ache and my nose is throbbing. “Doubt leafy fucking greens are going to help with the amount of damage I’ve taken over the years.”

“You’d be surprised. Kale’s incredible.”

“I thought the world moved on from kale.”

“The world did, but I’m stuck in my ways.”

She follows me outside. I’m tempted to snap at her and make her stay behind, but something makes me hold my tongue. It’s the way she’s walking close, like she’s inches from reaching out and touching me, and maybe it’s the kiss we shared last night after the fight. I keep thinking about her lips, about the way I fucked up and broke my promise. That little, mistaken touch, my hand brushing hers, it’s weighing on me. I’m better than that.

But maybe not. Charlie’s just going to be in the way at the depot and I’m absolutely sure I’m going to catch shit from the other guys if I let my wife tag along. I should make her get back in the house.

I don’t say a word. Instead, she climbs into the truck beside me, and we don’t talk as I make the familiar drive.

She’s got this annoying habit. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it. Whenever she’s in a car, she fucking hums. And not just some tuneless, noiseless bullshit. But an actual song. One specific song.

I’m Still Standingby Elton John.

I had to look it up. Took me like an hour to figure it out. Apparently, it was featured in some children’s animated movie a few years back or some shit like that.

I’m at the point where I actuallylikethe sound of her humming that dumb song.

Any other person and I’d be biting their head off by now.

Charlie gets away with it.

Just like she gets to climb into my truck, follow me to work, watch my fights, tend to my wounds, kiss me, sleep in my bed, make me hurt every time she’s close.

“This is the big scary depot, huh?” She frowns out the window as we pull into the lot. Tall chain-link fences are covered by curling barbed wire. There are rocks and weeds all over the place. “Needs some work.”

“It’s a building for trucks.” I kill the engine and turn to her. “Listen to me. I let you tag along?—”

“You didn’t let me. I firmly insisted.”

“—Now you need to follow some rules.”

Her eyebrows raise and she gives me a coy smirk. “You know I love a good rule.”

I choose not to take that bait.

“You can’t wander off. There’s a lot of shit going on and some of it you’re not supposed to see.”

“Like what?” she purrs, leaning closer.

“Like fucking drugs. You know that already. Stick to the main floor and the back offices. When you’re bored, I’ll take you back home.”

She pouts and leans back. “I have a feeling I’m going to behighlyentertained.”

“Doubt it. Come on.” I push my door open and march toward the back entrance, feeling like a damn fool as my wife hurries to keep up.

She peppers me with questions. How many bays? How many trucks? How many employees? Frankly, I don’t even know half the answers, and I start making shit up just to keep her happy. I give her a brief tour, showing her the interior of the loading bay and the repairs station before walking her along the enormous exterior lot where most of the unused trucks are stored.

“How many cameras do you have out here?” she asks, sounding curious.

“Dozens. More now than before.”