“I exist,” she spat.
“Nope,” Tate replied.
“Right,” she drawled, leaning back and crossing her arms on her chest. “Baby, I roll my tongue around the tip of your cock, you’ll remember I exist.”
“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Tate returned. “Though, since, I’ve had a woman who knows how to use her mouth and doesn’t forget to check her fuckin’ teeth.”
Quick as a flash, she leaned forward and planted her hands on her hips.
“You love my teeth!” she hurled at him.
“Told you once, told you a million times, Neet, no man likes a woman’s teeth scrapin’ his dick. Christ, agony, somethin’ you’re good at dishin’ out in a variety of ways.”
“You never complained,” she retorted.
“I did, woman, you just never listened,” Tate fired back. “Gotta say, never knew what it’d be like to tag a piece I didn’t have to give instruction. And, damn babe, trust me, it’s fuckin’… sweet.”
She stopped speaking and I bit my lip, wondering how I felt about being referred to as “a piece” that Tate had “tagged” considering I was guessing he meant me.
Neeta changed tactics and when she did, the deck rocked under my feet.
“You fuck with me, you never see Jonas again.”
She barely got out the word “again” when Tate took four swift, long, angry strides, all of them right at her.
Her face visibly paling, she retreated on an angle at the last minute but Tate kept bearing down on her until he had her pinned against the railing, his body in her space, the line of it outright hostile. She stared up at him, mouth wide, eyes huge, body braced, she was staggered.
I watched this frozen with morbid fascination.
She’d fucked up his life but he’d never done that before.
Never.
He bent his neck so his face was in hers.
“Warning,” he growled. “You use my boy against me, Neeta, I swear to God, you’ll regret it.”
His boy?
I felt the blood drain from my own face and my head got light.
“And,” Tate went on, “I see you within hearing distance of Laurie, I’ll fuck with your life so much you’ll wish you lived on the goddamned moon.”
Neeta recovered and her back went straight.
“I got the papers, Tate, and you can tell your lawyers to go fuck themselves. After this shit, Jonas no longer exists for you.”
“He’s here next weekend or I swear to Christ –”
“You’re a joke!” she cut him off. “Do you think that any judge is gonna give custody of a ten year old kid to a bounty hunter who’s home two days a month?”
Oh my God.
Tate had a son. Tate and Neeta shared a child. And Tate was going for custody of his son.
“I got shit goin’ down in my life. I needed to be in my truck, on the trail of a murderer at the same time not seein’ to that shit and hemorrhaging more money seein’ as I was workin’ that on my own time and my own fuckin’ dime like I needed a fuckin’ hole in my head. You were a distraction.”
Here it was.
This was the shit going down in his life. This had something to do with why that night in the hotel, that night the day before he met me, was the night it finally ended between these two.
Jonas. Tate’s ten year old boy. A son he never, not once, mentioned.
A son, it was likely Neeta was right, no judge would give to a bounty hunter who was home two days a month.
Unless he had someone in his home to help out. Say, a high-class, good girl who was smart, worked hard and grew up on a farm. A woman he ran into the day after whatever happened, happened.
I took a step back and noticed Wood make a slight movement. My eyes slid to him and I saw he wasn’t watching Tate and Neeta. He was watching me and he was doing it closely.
“Right,” Tate bit out and my gaze went back to him. “And do you think any judge is gonna think that what I can give him here isn’t better than stayin’ with you, a woman with a record and a husband with no fuckin’ job who drinks himself sick every night? You promised you’d leave that fuckwad and get my boy outta that mess you call a home. You didn’t. I told you, you didn’t, I’d get him out. And, make no mistake, Neeta,” he got closer to her face, “I’ll stop at fuckin’ nothin’ to get Jonas out.”
“I’ll fight you ‘til I’m dead, Tate,” she retorted then her eyes slid to me as her arm lifted and she pointed at me. “No way I’m gonna let your whore raise my kid.”
Tate’s hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around her wrist, twisting it behind her back as she emitted a small cry. I did too just because I was surprised at the vicious way he handled her. But Tate didn’t hesitate. He stepped back, turned, moving her with him and pushed her off. She went back two feet and righted herself.
“Perfect, Tate, thanks,” she snapped acidly. “Got witnesses to that tender act from my kid’s Dad.”
“Get in your car and go,” Tate clipped, holding his body completely still.
“You carry on like this, with her, we’ll be free and clear for Blake to adopt the kid and you’ll never see him again,” she threatened.
“Get in your car and go,” Tate repeated.
She ignored him. “I’ll parade all your trash for the court.” Her eyes came to me. “You aren’t the first, darlin’, and, trust me, you won’t be the last.”
“Go,” Tate growled, “now.”
She looked at Tate and hissed, “Trash.”
“Yeah,” he replied, still growling. “I’ve fucked trash. Gotta tell you, Neet, after all those years fuckin’ you, you cannot imagine how good it feels to thrust my cock into somethin’ sweet and clean.”
I pulled in both my lips and bit them, my eyes going to Wood. His eyes were fastened to the show that was happening not three feet in front of him.
Neeta glared at Tate and Tate’s back was to me but I suspected he held her glare. Then her eyes went to Wood.
“He’s talkin’ to your sister, you got nothin’ to say?” she snapped.
“Kills me,” Wood whispered and I felt my heart stutter because the tone of those two words elegantly underlined that what he was going to say next did, in a way, kill him. “But I know, I’ve known for a long time but with this fuckin’ mess you orchestrated tonight, Neet, I know nothin’s changed.”
“What?” she hissed.
“You,” Wood replied then he was whispering again, “Jonas? Neeta, seriously?”
“I’ll not –” she started.
“Keep custody, you keep actin’ like a goddamned lunatic,” Wood cut in. “And, I gotta say, Neet, I fuckin’ hope you don’t. I just hope you and Blake haven’t fucked that kid up so much he ends up like one of you.”
“You asshole,” she whispered.
Wood looked at Tate.
Then he stated firmly, “Anything you need, man. Anything you fuckin’ need.”
Then he turned, walked right to me, lifted a hand and curled it around the side of my neck. His fingers squeezed while his eyes searched mine in a way I thought he was communicating something but I was too stunned by what had happened, what I’d learned, to understand what it might mean. He gave my neck another squeeze, released me and walked down the deck, right by Neeta and Tate and right to his bike. He got on, started it up and roared down the drive.
When he turned into the road, I heard Neeta warn, “You just bought the fight of your life.”
My eyes went back to her to see she was glaring up at Tate. He didn’t move but I heard him sigh. It was deep and it was heavy and I knew exactly what it communicated. He was done. He was angry. He was over this. And he was going to take her on, no matter what she brought.
Not getting a reaction, she tore her eyes from Tate and they cut to me.
“Watch your back, bitch,” she snapped, turned and ran gracefully on her flip flops to her convertible. She started it up with an alarming rev of her engine, backed out and sped down the drive so fast, grav
el flew.
My body had turned to watch her go. I was so intent on doing this, I jumped when I felt Tate’s hand settle on the space where my neck hit my shoulder.
“Baby,” he whispered and my eyes moved to him.
God, he was beautiful.
He was also a liar, a playing, hideous liar.
I swallowed then jerked away from his hold, turned and ran to the sliding glass door. I tugged it open, ran inside and down the hall, straight to his room. I flipped on the light switch then ran to the closet and flipped on the light switch there. I was on my knees, zipping one of my suitcases closed when Tate was there.
“What are you doing?” he asked and I looked up briefly to see him standing at the doorway, then I looked back down at my case.
“Leaving,” I whispered.
“Laurie,” he said quietly and my head jerked back and I glared at him.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, surged up and took two wide steps toward him, planted my hands in his chest and shoved. He went back on a foot, his fingers wrapped around both of my wrists and held strong. “Fuck you!” I repeated.
“Ace, calm down.” He was still talking quietly.
“Jonas?” I asked.
“Babe –” he started but I ripped my wrists from his hold and went back to my bag, dropping to my knees in front of it.
“Fuck you, Tate,” I snapped, yanking the zip on my bag even though it was caught in a t-shirt I hadn’t tucked in. “God!” I cried, shaking my head. “What is the matter with me? How do I get messed up with this kind of shit?”
“Lauren, calm down and come into the bedroom so we can talk,” Tate ordered.
I shook my head, still struggling with the zip. “Oh no. No way. You’ve had your chance to talk. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to tell me you have a son. A son with that… that…” my head whipped back and I looked him in the eye, “that woman.”
“Ace, listen to me –”
I shot up to my feet and rounded on him. “I went to bed naked, Tate. I never sleep naked. I don’t like to sleep naked. It isn’t comfortable. And I did that for you.” I stabbed a finger toward him then threw up both my hands. “God, what a fool! I should have known. You,” I thrust a finger at him again, “want me? What the fuck was I thinking?”
“Lauren –”
“An old, fat, sorry-assed bitch,” I hurled his words at him. “That’d work, Tate. Good call, honey. At least that old, fat, sorry-assed bitch would work when paraded in front of a judge as a show you could give a stable home to Jonas!”
One second he was standing in the door, the next second I was pinned against the back wall of the closet. He’d moved so fast, and I’d retreated so automatically, I didn’t even know how I got there. I just felt the wall against my back and Tate was deep in my space. I felt that energy coming from him, so strong it was a flood and it enveloped me so tight it felt like there was no oxygen in the air to breathe. His body wasn’t hostile, not like he was with Neeta, but it was aggressive in a way that I had absolutely no choice but to pay attention.
“That’s the last time you get to throw that in my face,” he whispered and even his voice scared the shit out of me.
I sucked in breath and, in doing so, tried to suck in courage. “Step back, Tate. I’m leaving.”
“You have nothin’ to do with Jonas.” He was still whispering.
“Step back,” I demanded.
His face came to within an inch of mine. “Not one fuckin’ thing.”
“Right,” I shot back, my tone filled with sarcasm.
“She promised me she was leavin’ him,” he said. “She promised me she’d come home, bring my boy home, we’d start over, she’d get her shit together, we’d have a life, a family.” I made no response but that didn’t matter, Tate kept talking. “But she showed and she was supposed to bring Jonas. She didn’t. She just wanted to get off. She likes to get off. She likes to suck cock. Her man, he drinks so much, his dick is so limp, it’s been so long since he used it for more than to take a piss it’s a wonder it hasn’t fallen off. She came back not to make a family, she promised that shit just to get my cock. Just to get off. Christ, Lauren, this woman is raising my son.”
“Tate, step –”
“I was through with her before. We’d been fightin’ this battle for ten years. Broken promises from her which led to us bein’ in and outta court for control of Jonas. Her asshole of a husband would lose another job or lose another game of cards and back in court we’d go, not for custody, for more support so I could prop up her and that dickless husband of hers. Jonas can’t suffer so what do I do, Lauren? What do I do?”
“Tate –”
“I give more, he drinks it or gambles it, she snorts it or smokes it, Christ, who knows?” Tate bit out. “I gotta juggle everything so I don’t miss a weekend with him. Twice a month I get to see him. That is, twice a month until that night, when she showed up at the hotel room, I got inside and my son wasn’t there and I knew her game. I knew, no matter how sweet she could tell her lies, she’d played me again and used my kid to do it. So that was it and she knew it. We didn’t fight. I told her to get her shit sorted because my attorney would be in touch. She tried to play me again but I was done. You don’t use my kid against me, not for a fuckin’ orgasm, for fuck’s sake.”
“Tate, I –”
“I haven’t seen him in two months, Lauren. Your shit, Tonia’s shit, needin’ to work so I can pay my bills and keep my kid fed because neither of those two do jack. I haven’t seen my boy.”
“I’m sorry, but –”
“I get home, that scene goes down and you… what? I don’t even know what the fuck you’re on about.”
“I know why you’re with me,” I told him.
“Yeah, babe? And why’s that?”
“I…” I took in a breath then started again. “I don’t have any kids but that sounds awful, Tate. I’m sorry about that, it sounds… I’m sorry about it. And I can understand why you’d do anything you could to get Jonas but you can’t act like Neeta. You can’t play someone else to take care of your son.”
His head tipped to the side. “Act like Neeta?”
“To make a home for your son. Make a family. Make something a judge would look at favorably and use me to do it.”
His brows snapped together under narrowed eyes.
“Use you to do it?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I stated. “That’s why you’re with me. A man like you… a woman like me.” I shook my head and whispered, “I didn’t get it but I get it now.”
“Tell me you’re shittin’ me,” he demanded.
“Sorry?” I asked.
He moved quickly and he did this to pound the side of his fist on the wall by my head.
He got in my face and shouted, “Tell me you’re shittin’ me!”
I jumped with the fist action and went still at his shouting in my face then I shouted back, “No Tate! I am not shitting you! I get it! You can stop…” I got up on my toes and got into his face too, “fucking… playing me!”
He took a step back and then I was in the air. I blinked at his back in surprise and realized I was over his shoulder as he turned and stalked to the door of the closet.
“What on –?”
“Shut it,” he growled.
“Tate, put me down!” I shouted, putting my hands to his waist and pushing as my feet kicked and he rounded the bed.
I felt his palm smack my ass, it wasn’t light, it wasn’t harsh but it made a point.
“Shut it, Lauren.”
I shut it. I’d never been spanked before. Not in my life. My Dad wasn’t afraid of discipline but he dished it out verbally.
Tate carried me to the bathroom, the light went on, he bent and put me on my feet. Then he jerked my body to facing the vanity and mirror and he moved in, pinning me to the edge of the basin counter.
“Look,” he ordered.
“What?” I whispered, still recovering from being hauled bodily into the bathro
om and pinned to the counter against my will.
One of his arms locked around my ribcage, his other hand curled under my jaw and he leaned in, forcing me forward over the basin.
“Look,” he demanded. “What do you see?”
“Tate –”
“What do you see?” he repeated on a growl.
With no choice and more than a little scared, I looked at him in the mirror and answered. “I see me.”
“What do you see?” he reiterated.
“Tate, I see me,” I whispered.
“Lauren, look at you, not me. What the fuck do you see?”
I stared at him in the mirror and then my eyes went to my reflection.
“I see me,” I said softly and I did.
“Who did it to you?” Tate asked, releasing my jaw and he bent further forward, his hand covering mine on the counter.
“Did what?” I asked.
“Twisted what you see,” he answered. “’Cause, babe, I’m guessin’, with that shit you just fed me, what you see ain’t what I see.”
My breath caught and I remained silent.
“I know it ain’t your folks, they see what I see so who did it?”
“Tate,” I breathed but said no more. My heart was beating wildly, I could feel it in my chest, my neck, my wrists and my legs felt like jelly. If he wasn’t pressing me into the counter and holding me up, I was certain I’d fall.
His hand left mine at the counter and his arm at my ribs moved us slightly back so he could pull up the tee, exposing my panties and bunching the shirt under his arm then both of his arms locked tight around me and he pressed me into the counter again.
“Baby,” he whispered, “I don’t fuckin’ get it. Is it easier for you to see what he made you think was there? And if that’s it, why? What the fuck are you protecting yourself from?”
“I…” I swallowed, “I don’t understand.”
“No, babe, you don’t. He twisted it in so deep, you can’t straighten it out but look, look at you.” My eyes stayed locked to his in the mirror and he urged softly, “Laurie, baby, look at you.”
I forced my eyes to my reflection and I took it in, all of it. Not only me, my hips, undies and belly exposed, my breasts resting on his forearm, my hair a mess around my makeup-free face and Tate behind me, tall, dark, broad and beautiful.
Sweet Dreams Page 31