Searching for Beautiful(72)
Fuck this.
With a roar, he charged Bulldog, swinging his fists like madman. The rush of adrenaline helped him get in a few good punches, but the asshole’s biceps were like bricks. Soon he had him under the arms and lifted him like a lightweight, tossing him across the room like a fly caught by a swatter. He crashed to the floor and twisted his ankle. Red-hot fire ripped up his leg, but he tried to scramble toward his screaming mother, desperate to gain some space.
Too late.
Bulldog flipped the mattress. The gaping hole mocked them both, and sick dread coursed through his body, shaking his limbs. No. No no no no.
“Whatta we got here?” Bulldog stuck his fingers through the rip and pulled out a stack of cash. “Your precious boy is a fucking liar, whore. Keeping it for himself and letting you go sick without your hit. Is this gratitude for giving him a roof over his head?”
His mother’s eyes lit up at the money. Her tongue shot out to wet her lips, and suddenly Vincent knew it was truly over. He would never win over the coke or meth.
Never.
The man loomed over him. Vincent tried to pull himself to his feet, but a rough kick in the gut tossed him back down. He reached for the knife, tried to palm it and make a quick jab, but Bulldog caught the movement and twisted his hand hard until the knife dropped uselessly to the floor. Vincent stared at it. Bulldog laughed, cracked his knuckles, and leaned over.
“I’m gonna teach you a lesson, boy. And it’s gonna hurt.”
It was a long, long time before consciousness blessedly left him.
He was thirteen years old.
seventeen
LET’S GO FOR ice cream.”
Wolfe groaned from his prone position on the couch. “I’m exhausted. We had a theft in our office, I lost a potential client, and the vending machines ran out of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I had to settle for crappy Skittles.”
“Oooh, I love Skittles. Hey, don’t you have gourmet five-star chefs you stole from the Food Network? Why are you hitting vending machines?”
He snorted. “I like them. Besides, snobby chefs don’t do Peanut Butter Cups. I asked. Michael said he’d reexamine the offerings at La Dolce Maggie, but I think he’s humoring me.”
“We’ll get ice cream and cappuccino. Come on, don’t be a grump. It’s a beautiful summer night. You need fresh air.”
“I need sleep.”
She walked over and shook his shoulders. He was so rock solid he didn’t budge but managed to let out a grumble. “Why are you so frisky tonight? Hard day matching up happy couples?”
“Brat. No, I had a great day. There’s a new recruit that Kate thinks will be perfect for me, so we’re setting up a date. I’m just feeling a little restless.”
Gen refused to tell him the real truth. She was going a bit stir-crazy. She loved working at Kinnections, and adored seeing her friends behind the scenes. They were a trio of powerhouse females who blew her away. But she still felt lost. Her fingers itched for a scalpel, for her scrubs, and for the junkie rush that shot through her system when she had a new patient. When Kate got a paper cut today, Gen actually got excited and tried to double wrap it.
A sad state of affairs.
Guilt twanged her. “You win. I know you’re tired. I’ll go myself. Want me to bring you back something?”
Those laser-blue eyes lifted and probed deep. He rolled to his feet in one graceful motion. “I’ll go. Sugar and caffeine sound pretty damn good, and you never get my order right.”
He was lying. He wanted to veg out on the couch, but he sensed she needed company, and once again donned his knight-in-shining-armor outfit. The thing would be completely tarnished after he was done with her.
“You don’t have to.”
“Nah, I need to get out more. When golf dates with Nate become the hottest thing on my schedule, there’s a problem.”
They walked outside. The muggy air slammed into them, wrapped around, and stayed. The sun burned through the trees lining the sidewalk. Verily exploded with activity, from children on bikes to dog walkers and couples linking hands. The shops stayed open late through the fall, and Main Street screamed for customers to spend money in the quaint river town. Local artists sat outside painting canvases, carts filled with bright, fun knickknacks tempted passersby, and both humans and canines lined up outside the Barking Dog Bakery for goodies. Gen relaxed under the heat and familiar hum of chatter and laughter of her home.
“How come you stopped dating?” she asked. “I mean, Nate’s good looking and all, but a millionaire underwear model turned hotel magnate should rate someone a bit more feminine.”
Wolfe shrugged. He’d changed from his work clothes to a simple pair of frayed denim shorts, flip-flops, and a black T-shirt with the Purity logo on it. So why did he look like he’d just stepped out of Esquire? He wore clothes with a casual neglect most men couldn’t pull off. Fabric bent to his will, hugged lean muscles, and surrendered. It made total sense why he’d become such a hot rage in the fashion world. He gave away nothing in his face, in his eyes. Just a big fuck you, which drove women mad with the urge to tame him.