Chapter Thirty-Two

Reed

We're pulling out of the practice gym's parking lot when I try calling Tate. She said she was finishing her run, so she should be heading home soon.

With the sun setting earlier, I can't shake the worry about her running alone in the dark. After the third time she did not answer her phone, only to call back and have the fourth go straight to voicemail, I knew something was wrong.

It's unlike her not to text me back when she finishes her run, and it's definitely not like her to avoid my calls.

I lay on the horn, trying to get Beckham's and Colter's attention. They're riding together in Beckham's truck.

"What's up?" Beckham shouts as he rolls down his window.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe it's nothing, but I need to check on Tate. She went for a run, and I'm worried about her. She's not answering her phone."

"Maybe she went home and jumped in the shower?"

"Maybe, but don't you think she would've texted me to let me know she made it home?"

Beckham nods, understanding my point. Hayes pulls up behind him, and I quickly fill him in.

"I have to pick up Everly from the student center. We can swing by our house after, and I'll check to see if she's there. If she is, I'll let you know."

"All right. Beckham and Colter, why don't you guys follow me?"

The plan to hack into Wells's phone worked to perfection. When I set up the app he downloaded to his phone, I also installed location services. So, if his phone is on and he still has the app downloaded, I should be able to get a real-time feed of his exact location.

I click on the app and wait for his updates to sync. When it shows his location in Braysen, my blood runs cold.

"Goddammit," I growled. "He's here. We gotta go."

"Who's here?" Beckham shouts as I slam on the gas.

I don't have time to explain, and I shouldn't need to spell it out either. We gun it down the road, my truck fishtailing as I glance in my rearview mirror to see Beckham right on my tail.

I've dug up more on Wells than I anticipated to find. My initial plan was to clear his Cloud and anything he had that tied him back to Tate. But now, it's clear that's only the beginning.

I needed leverage to turn the tables and make sure Wells knew we were done playing games. Every second it takes to reach Black Rock feels like years shaved off my life.

The parking lot overlooking the beach is shrouded in darkness, with only a few light poles scattered throughout. I weigh my options, considering how best to approach the situation, but my patience is wearing thin. When I spot Wells standing near the Mustang, his hand gripping Tate's chin and forcing her head back, my blood boils.

I slam the brakes and screech to a stop behind my car. As I get out of the truck, Wells drags Tate in front of him, one arm held behind her back and his other hand tight around her throat.

"Reed, no, no. Stop. He said he has a knife, and he threatened to hurt you!" Tate's voice trembles, her eyes pleading.

"That's right, Reed. So you better stay back." Wells sneers. "One wrong move or sly comment, and I'll make sure you never hear her say another word for as long as you live."

I grit my teeth, hearing Beckham's truck pull up behind me.

"Well, well, well," Wells taunts. "What do we have here? It looks like you and your little rats run in packs. I hadn't expected you to bring Carver along with you, but I don't mind killing two birds with one stone."

"Shut the fuck up, Perry," Beckham snaps.

"He has a knife," I spit out. "He won't release Tate, so just keep it fuckin' cool," I mutter to Beckham.

"Talon's gonna cut your nuts off and feed them to you when he finds out what you're doing with his sister," Beckham adds.

"Good, and while you're at it, why don't you ask him about my sister for me? Tell him to ask her about the secret she's been keeping from him too."

Tate's eyes flash to mine, and her lip starts to quiver.

"Listen, I'll pass along the message, but if you don't mind, I'd like to focus on other matters," I say, my voice firm.

"Right, right," Wells says, a cruel smile transforming his face. "Why don't you and your friends pack up and leave me and Tate to our conversation, huh? While I'm sure your presence is appreciated, it's not necessary. This is between the two of us."

"Wrong," I growl.

Wells adjusts his grip on Tate's throat, her eyes flashing to mine. "Oh, and how so?"

"This isn't between the two of you anymore. In fact, I think you'll agree this is more between you and me now."

His grip tightens around Tate's throat, making her gasp for air.

"Let her go, or I swear, the dirt I have on you and your father will destroy everything you've built."

He loosens his hold slightly, and Tate takes a shuddering breath.

"Does your dad know about your affair with Valerie?" I press.

His eyes widen with a flicker of pain, and I know I got him.

"What the hell do you know about Valerie?"

"I think what you really mean is what don't I know?" I pull out my phone, open the secure app, and tap on the video I saved earlier. Turning the screen toward him, I press play. "Don't you think your dad might find it interesting you've been sleeping with his assistant?"

"How the hell did you get that video?" The trembling in his voice gives him away.

"See, you don't get to ask questions without something in return. Let go of Tate, and I'll give you an answer."

He throws his head back and cackles. "Not gonna happen."

"Well, that's fine, but if you don't, I have an email ready to send to every major news station in the Eastern Tennessee area. By this time tomorrow night, you'll be the headline. Just in time for the re-election next month."

He releases Tate and shoves her roughly. She stumbles, gasping for air. I lunge for her, helping steady her before she falls to the ground.

She bends down and picks up her phone I hadn't seen on the pavement until now. The screen is cracked. It's fucked and will likely need to be replaced.

"C'mere, Lucy," Beckham mutters, his tone grim.

It pains me not to comfort her, but now isn't the time. I need to finish what we've started.

"All right, I released her. Now answer the question. How the hell did you get that video?"

"I could ask you the same question. How did you get the video of Tate and me? It doesn't matter anymore. I've wiped your phone and every device you own clean. It's as if poof…" I flick my fingers at him. "I never happened. Except for the burner phone you have where you recorded us."

He clenches his jaw.

"You have anything on there? Might as well give the other phone to me. If I find out later there's more, trust me when I say the consequences will be even worse."

Wells reaches into his pocket and hurls the burner phone onto the ground.

"Well, you got me, Hendrix. You know about me and Valerie. Big fucking deal. What are you gonna do with the video? Send it to the news station, and then what?" he taunts.

"I don't think dear ole dad would like to hear how you've been sleeping with his mistress." There's a low gasp from behind me. "That's not exactly how I'd get revenge on my dad. The thought of fucking the same woman as my father." I shiver. "More power to you. What I don't like is how you have a habit of taking videos of women and using them as leverage over them. You get off on blackmailing people and forcing them to do what you want."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Wells demands.

"I want you to get the fuck out of this town, and I want you to erase Tate from your phone and your memory. I want you to pretend she doesn't even exist."

"And then what?"

"If you listen, I'll make sure this video doesn't see the light of day. You should know, though, this isn't the only thing I have on you. So if it comes out and you think you can try to pull some shit, just know I have plenty more to hold over your head. You know it too."

He holds his hands up in defeat and takes several steps back. Once he's far enough away, he turns and heads toward the opposite side of the beach. I have no idea where he's heading, but all I care about is that he's far away from here.

I turn to Tate, and she collapses in my arms. Colter and Beckham are standing behind her, staring wide-eyed.

"You two okay?" Beckham asks, and I glance down at Tate. She nods and wraps her arms around me, tucking herself close.

"I'm fine, just please take me home," Tate says, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, we should probably get out of here," Colter grunts. "Hayes has been texting, asking where we are. Everly is going out of her mind, wanting to know how Tate is doing."

I reach for the door handle and help Tate inside. Beckham and Colter follow close behind us, and we haul ass out of the parking lot.

Tate slides across the bench seat, resting her head against my shoulder. We stay that way in silence the entire ride home. My head against hers and my hand on her thigh.

"How did you know?" she asks when we pull into the driveway.

"It's a long story. One I'll tell you soon, but not tonight. Let me get you inside and take care of you, knowing you're safe. All right?"

She nods, and I slip out of the truck. She slides over and climbs down on my side. We link our fingers together as we walk across the yard into the house.

We find Everly pacing in the living room when we walk through the door. She rushes over to Tate as soon as she hears us.

"Oh my God, what happened? Your eye is starting to swell, and you have a red handprint wrapping around your throat."

"I'm okay," Tate says, hoarsely. She wraps Everly in a hug. Everly wipes the tears from her eyes and apologizes to Tate for crying.

"I was just worried about you. I'm relieved you're okay," Everly says.

"I'm okay," Tate repeats, turning toward me and nodding. "I'm okay."

"Do you think maybe we should go to the hospital in Lancaster and get you checked out? Is anything sore? Do you have any injuries?"

"No, he just hit me and grabbed me by the throat. My arm is sore from how he had it bent, but nothing that won't heal in a few days."

"How about I run you a shower?" I offer, and Tate nods.

As we start up the stairs, Tate suddenly remembers something. "I forgot about my shift tonight at Sweet Tooth. I didn't even call in."

"I talked to Wyatt," Everly says, pressing her fingers to her forehead as she recalls their conversation. "She called me looking for you when your phone went straight to voicemail. She reassured me she has it covered for tonight," Everly says.

"Okay," she says, her voice cracking. "I'll call her tomorrow. I'll need to get a new phone too."

"We'll get that taken care of. Don't worry about it," I reassure her. "C'mon, sweetheart."

I lead her upstairs and into the bathroom. We shut the door behind us, and I help her remove her sports bra. Under the fluorescent lights, the bruises and marks are more visible, including the handprint on her throat.

Tate winces, clutching her shoulder when she tries to push her shorts over her hips.

"I got it," I mutter, kneeling on the ground and helping her pull them down.

It's not about anything other than taking care of her right now. Although the sight of her will always make my heart beat wildly.

This night has proven to me that all I want to do for the rest of my life is take care of her and keep her safe.

"C'mere, sweetheart. Let's get you in the shower," I say gently. "The warm water will help ease your sore muscles."

"What would I do without you?" she murmurs.

"I don't know, baby, and I don't want to ever find out."