Page 49 of Wicked Angel
“Will do, brother.”
I hung up—and hurled my phone at the wall, where the screen shattered. I heard the sick cracking sound before it hit the floor.
I pressed my face into my hands and sucked in a deep breath.
“What the fuck just happened?” Shane said mildly. It wasn’t like me to start breaking shit.
But the all-consuming rage had flooded my system, so fucking fast—just like the other night, with Angeline, in my driveway… it flipped a switch in me that night or something. I’d felt off, weirdly out of control of my own emotions ever since.
No. Not true.
I just wasn’t used to having emotions at all. Definitely not ones that had me almost punching strangers and breaking my own damn phone against the wall. What a fucking stupid move.
The doorbell rang through the house. I looked up at Shane. Whoever was at the door, either Lamar had let them in or they had the code to the gate. I couldn’t sort it out in my head.
“Did I just break my own fucking phone?”
“Yup.” Shane went to pick it up, looking it over. “Still working. But your screen is smashed to shit.”
I got to my feet. I walked over to the patio doors, stared blankly through the glass, across the back deck and the pool to the thick trees beyond. We were in my home gym. We were supposed to be working out. Then having a few people over. Maybe barbecue or something.
I wasn’t even sure why. A distraction, maybe. Time filler.
Time killer.
While I fucking waited on other people to decide my professional fate, apparently.
“This is such bullshit,” I growled.
The doorbell rang again.
“That’ll be Lex,” Shane said from behind me. “I’ll go let him in.”
Right; Lex was coming over.
Shane went through the house to get him as I just stood there. I couldn’t even process whatever the fuck I was feeling. I didn’t know how to. The rage had come on like a flash flood, burning through my system like liquid fire. Then everything jammed up in my head… and I started going numb.
As I stared through the glass in front of me, my vision blurred. Rain ran down the glass, turning to blood.
I blinked the illusion away. There was no rain. It was sunny out.
There was no blood.
I heard Shane and Lex come into the gym.
“I’m losing my shit.” That must’ve been me, because I definitely heard my own voice.
“You’re fine,” Shane said.
I turned to look at him and Lex. Shane in his workout clothes; lean but ripped, the ghosts of bruises on his face, he looked like the fighter he was. Lex in his usual, a black T-shirt with worn gray-black jeans; his clothes covered his tats so he didn’t even look like the biker he was, unless he smiled and his silver canines flashed. He’d left his leather biker vest at home today. He usually didn’t wear it unless he was directly working for his motorcycle club. Or looking to pick up, though that was back before he got married.
“What’s wrong?” Lex asked, reading the tension in the room.
“Cary Clarke,” I said numbly. “He’s supposed to produce Breakneck’s album. He just pulled out of the project.”
“Oh,” Lex said. “Shit.”
“Which means we just lost his recording studio, too.”
