7. Gage

Chapter Seven

GAGE

Life used to seem clearer up here in my favorite spot, but not today, with my body aching and my brain buzzing on high alert.Not with Wyatt right beside me.I don't know why I'd ever thought I was ready to face him again.No matter the miles or hard edges I'd picked up, I was still the same stupid kid underneath.

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, so softly I could’ve written it off as the oak leaves rustling on their branches.

I snorted, downed the rest of my cold coffee, and tossed him a buttermilk biscuit from my hoarded breakfast.“Not interested in talking about this,” I said, more to the scenery than to him.

He looked down at his biscuit, contemplated it for a second, and then shook his head and set it aside.“We have to talk about it." He sounded so careful, so damn considerate, that it made me want to put my fist through something.“I cared about you, Gage. I wanted you.That…that was the hardest part.”

I didn’t want to hear this. In fact, it was the last fucking thing I wanted to hear.It didn’t feel good. Didn’t feel like vindication.Just felt like rubbing salt in a wound that hadn’t healed right the first time.

“Don’t,” I growled, jacking my spine straight.I turned on him so quick, I was hoping to unsettle him, but he just sat there, unflinching and steady as the day is long.He met my eyes fearlessly, but then again, he had nothing to be embarrassed about.That was all me. "You were right back then.I was a kid with a dumb crush, but I'm not that guy anymore.I don't need your guilt, and I sure as hell don't need your pity."

Before I could blink, Wyatt's hand was on my jaw.I should have pulled away, fed him his teeth, something—anything.But I didn’t. I froze. He applied subtle pressure, tilting my face toward him, forcing me to meet his eyes.We were so close. Inches apart.Those dark, dark eyes sucked me in, and I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried.When the sun caught them just right, I swore they turned amber.

“I’ve never pitied you,” Wyatt said roughly.“It’d be like feeling sorry for a saber-tooth tiger.”

My teeth were grinding so hard I could feel my jaw flexing beneath his thumb.“They went extinct, you know,” I said, jerking my head free.

Wyatt’s response went dry. “Not under my watch.”

My own laughter startled me, sending a crack of pain shooting through my ribs.They ached if I was upright for too long and crawling through the attic had done me no favors, so I leaned back against the chimney and crumbled a piece of bacon into my mouth.After a beat of hesitation, he joined me.I watched those big, rough hands of his as he broke his own biscuit in half, wordlessly handing me the bigger piece.

“I still need to know what you saw last night,” he said, stealing a piece of bacon from the pile on my lap.

I grimaced. “Told you already.Announcing my arrival was gonna be a pain in the ass, so I parked at the Dead End to stack some Z’s before dealing with it.Some losers were hauling the girl outside against her will.She was in trouble, so I stepped in.Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a trench near the water.”

Wyatt chewed thoughtfully. “Why the Dead End?”

“Why not?” I asked, genuinely confused.“It was a chill place back in the day.Cold beer, decent music, and they never checked ID.”

He shot me a sardonic look but let that slide.All he said was, “It’s the biggest trafficking hub in the parish these days.”

That caught me by surprise. I’d gotten used to the dregs of humanity in Vegas, but Devil’s Garden was a long way from sin city.“Human or drug?”

“Take your pick. If you hadn't stepped in, that's probably what would've happened to Ivy."

“Not if Pops still runs the place,” I shot back.“Ain’t no way. He was a stand-up guy.”

Wyatt worked his tongue along the inside of his cheek, turning over whatever he was about to say.Then he shrugged. “Can’t speak to that, but Pops retired a few years ago.A guy named Silas McKenna runs it now.We’re breaking up bad shit down there almost every night, but it’s like hacking at Medusa.Every time we cut off one head, three more show up.”

Dominic’s warning echoed in my ears: more than half the cops in this parish are dirty.I didn't believe it for a second, not about Wyatt, but something told me he knew more than he was letting on.

“Dom mentioned the sheriff's department is having trouble keeping things in check,” I said, watching him closely.

Just like that, Wyatt’s easy, impartial mask slipped.His eyes narrowed, and I caught a flash of real hostility.“Yeah? Well, your brother would know all about it.”

I rocked back, caught off guard.“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He screwed up his face, looking like he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.But I wasn’t letting this one slide.I’d pictured coming home a thousand times.I’d dreamed about collard greens and Loretta's fried chicken, the swampy green smell of the bayou, and my brothers' laughter drifting down the hall.But nobody seemed to be laughing these days.It felt like I’d landed in the middle of a minefield without a map.

Wyatt didn’t answer right away.His gaze went distant, scanning the horizon as he sifted through his next words.When he finally spoke, his tone was so deliberately neutral, he might as well have been giving a weather report.“Evil's got a chokehold on this town, Gage.Drugs are flooding across state lines, and all the rest of the vices are following.For each operation we shut down, three more pop up, and the rich folks are too busy slurping cocktails in their gated communities to see it.Vanderhoff's more interested in his next country club invitation than doing his job, and the DA's dropping cases like it's some kind of sport.I've got dealers back on the street before I can even finish the paperwork."

Understatement of the year, according to Dom.I picked up my empty coffee mug and began playing with it, rolling it back and forth between my palms.It was easier than looking at him when I asked, “What does this have to do with Dom?”

Wyatt sighed. “Your brother's playing with fire.I don’t know if he ever planned on Saxa Fracta being a normal restaurant, but it’s been years since he ran it like one.It’s a front. He’s got his own people now, and he’s pushing back on the gangs—hard.”

I took a deep breath. A scratchy tightness was crawling up my chest, and it had nothing to do with the busted ribs.I remembered when Dom first got the idea for his restaurant.Southern fusion, he called it.He used to spend nights at the kitchen table in deep conversation with Boone, pouring over his business plan.Now that I looked back on it, he'd never wanted me overhearing the details.At the time, I'd thought he was just being his usual secretive self, but now I wondered.Maybe he'd been digging in even before I left.Maybe it was all that kept him from going crazy while Ben rotted in prison and Vanderhoff walked free.

“Better the devil you know, huh?” I joked weakly.

Wyatt didn’t laugh. “It’s messy, Gage.The kind of trouble you don’t want to be dragged into.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to ask.“What’s he into?”

“Everything.” His grim tone chilled me to the bone.

“Boone must have known,” I mumbled, half to myself.

Wyatt nodded. “Funded it, too.”

I thought about the day Boone had sent me away, shoved me onto that bus and told me to keep out of trouble or not come back at all.And I did. I kept my distance and bided my time like he wanted.Meanwhile, he and Dominic were building a criminal empire, sowing seeds they wanted to keep hidden from the rest of us.

No wonder things were so chilly between Dom and Gideon.

My fingers clenched around the empty mug until I worried I'd snap the handle.I set it down carefully and wiped my palms on my jeans.“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” Wyatt's gaze drifted to my bruised knuckles, and his jaw tightened.“Whatever you think of your own capabilities, this isn’t your fight.”

“If it involves my brothers, it will always be my fight,” I snarled, but just as I was about to really get into it, my cell phone pinged and started vibrating.I winced and dug around in my pocket, swiping my thumb across the screen to light up a message from Gideon: I'm waiting.

There was no location attached, but I knew exactly where he’d be.Since I was a kid, it had always irritated me how Gideon summoned people like it was an order from on high.Still did. He expected to be obeyed, and the shit-kicking part of me lived to disappoint, but I’d learned young that fighting Gideon was like trying to drain the bayou with a sieve.Pointless.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and looked up to catch Wyatt watching me, tracking the shift in my expression.“I’ve got a date with a priest,” I said, forcing a grin I didn’t feel.

Wyatt raised one eyebrow and gave me a long, searching look, the kind that let me know I wasn’t fooling him.“Looks like you’re psyching yourself up to face a firing squad.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a few years since I’ve been to confession.” I chuckled, climbing stiffly to my feet.I balled up the paper towel leftover from breakfast and shoved it into my empty mug, dangling the handle off one finger.Fixating on insignificant details so I didn’t have to meet Wyatt’s eyes.“Catch you later,” I said casually.

But Wyatt stood too, making it look easier than it had been for my battered body.He clamped a hand on my shoulder, like he’d done a hundred times when I was younger.The touch should have felt like nothing, platonic and routine, but it never had.Not for me, and especially not now, with his callused thumb sliding against my bare skin and turning my body into a live wire.

“Remember what I toldyoutoday,” he said, dead serious.“Heal up and stay out of trouble.I smoothed things over with Etienne about the stolen truck, but Vanderhoff doesn’t want to dropit.I can’t keep running interference between youforever.”

He still smelled so good. That subtle aftershave, light enough to not be overpowering in the heat, but inviting in a way that made me want to shove my nose against his throat andbreathe deep.

I shuddered and pulled away. “You know me,” I saidlightly.

“Yeah,” he replied, not even cracking asmile.“That’s theproblem.”