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go.
 You ve had your fun with my brother. Falcon spat the words. Zane had never
seen Falcon this pissed before.  It s over, Tate. Go fuck with someone else s head and
leave Zane out of whatever screwed-up game you re playing.
Zane walked in a fog toward the truck, barely able to breathe as he climbed into the
backseat. He just wanted to curl up on the leather and forget Tate ever existed. How could
he have been so damn foolish? He had been ready to forsake everything for that cop.
 Things get better, Santos said in a quiet whisper as he pulled away.
 Zane doubted it. Not when it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.
* * * *
Tate sat in a booth at Bloody Mary s bar, trying to get as drunk as he possibly
could. He couldn t ever remember feeling as if a big black hole had opened up in his chest.
He couldn t ever remember feeling the need to cry like a little bitch either. Zane had stood
there saying absolutely nothing while Falcon handed Tate his ass. Falcon had been wrong,
though. It wasn t Tate who had spun Zane, but the other way around.
How could Tate have been stupid enough to think a thug like Zane could be
anything other than a callous prick who spoke pretty words to get what he wanted? Fuck,
Tate was an idiot.
He grabbed the bottle of Everclear one of the most potent alcohols to line the
shelves and took a long swallow. Yep, Tate planned on getting smashed. He didn t give a
fuck that he was in a seedy part of town. He didn t even care that he d left his gun and
badge at home. All he cared about was forgetting Zane Mancinni.
He blinked, gazing around the half-filled bar, listening to the television blare an old
episode of Friends. There was laughter, swearing, and cheers, a game of pool ensuing in
the back.
Tate downed some more of the liquor. If he could make out what was going on
around him, he wasn t drunk enough. He turned his head as his body swayed, gazing once
more at the television to see a commercial for motorcycles.
Was he ever going to be able to escape the memory of Zane? Tate knocked the
bottle over, watching as the clear liquid began to drain over the table.
Fuck Zane.
Fuck this bar.
And fuck the television for reminding him that he d had his heart ripped out. Tate
pushed from the booth he and Zane had occupied last week and stumbled toward the door.
He needed to get out of here. Tate needed to& He felt tears begin to fall and didn t care
who noticed. He didn t know anyone here and didn t plan on getting to know them. A
violent pulse throbbed in his temples as he staggered outside.
The hot night air hit Tate and he had to fight the rise of bile in the back of his throat.
 Zane, Zane, Zane, Tate sang.  How you ve driven me insane.
Tate chuckled and then pressed his back into the brick wall, steadying himself as he
patted his jacket over and over again, wishing his hands would stop long enough to extract
his phone. But they kept dancing over his body, making him laugh harder until he felt the
bulge where his phone was. Tate pulled it free and dialed Zane s phone number.
The call went straight to voice mail.  Yousorrysackofshit, he said, his words
tumbling from his mouth as he turned, pressing his forehead into the wall.  I trusted you
and yous fuckkkked me. Tate began to cry.  Howcouldyoudothattome?
Tate dropped the phone, pressing his fists into his temples. He had to run, to escape.
It hurt so badly that he wanted to fall into a hole and disappear. He pushed from the wall,
weaving his way toward his car. The logical part of his brain knew he couldn t drive like
this, but there was nothing wrong with him passing out in his backseat.
At least he would stop thinking of Zane then.
He pressed his hand against the back door of his car before he dropped to his knees
and began to empty his guts. The hot tears continued to fall as his stomach twisted into a
tight knot. He was never going to trust anyone with his heart again. It actually felt like he
was dying.
Tate was trying to get up when he felt something slam into the back of his head, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]