“Again.”

Cole tapped his finger beside the empty shot glass. The bartender gave him the stink eye, but that didn’t stop him fetching the whiskey bottle and refilling Cole’s glass. They’d already had words. Cole had flashed his badge and asked if the bartender would like Cole to take a good look around the place. Funnily enough, that had shut the guy’s mouth and opened the whiskey bottle. Yeah, it made Cole a dick, but what was the point in being the nice guy? Nice guys always lost. He should fucking know.

Thirty-six hours had passed since Millie had walked out of that bar, leaving him wrecked and alone. Thirty-six hours since he’d had the shit kicked out of his heart. Thirty-six hours in which he’d wandered aimlessly around Manhattan, furious with himself, terrified for her, ravaged by feelings he couldn’t control. Finally spent, he’d decided to numb his pain by getting blind drunk. He’d called in sick to work—his first ever sick day. Not exactly something to be proud of, but he could hardly take a shift in this state.

Calum had sent him a raft of texts asking what was going on when Millie had turned up the previous day to pick up her stuff. He hadn’t replied. If she hadn’t told his brother, then he wasn’t going to. Further texts had rolled in from Jax. Also ignored. He had sent a brief one to Draven with sketchy details but hadn’t answered any follow-ups.

Instead of the alcohol dulling the terrible ache inside, the drunker he got, the angrier he became. At Tanner. At Millie. At himself. He should have gone to the airport, told that bastard to do his worst, called his bluff, let him release the damned video, and then hauled ass with Millie in tow. If it had only been his career on the line, he wouldn’t have given a shit, but he couldn’t do that to Jax. Millie was right. The press would descend like a pack of vultures on any sniff of police brutality, even though he’d barely touched the guy. Perception was everything, and videos and pictures could all be made to look a lot worse than reality.

His brother had put his heart and soul, not to mention their entire inheritance, into the business. They were still in hock to the venture capitalists, even if they were paying them back at a rate exceeding all expectations. But if they didn’t have a going concern, then the value of the property would plummet.

He slammed his fist on the bar at the unfairness of it all. He’d finally made her his, only for Tanner to steal her away—again. He rubbed his face hard, his mind playing terrible images on a continuous loop of Millie cowering in a corner while Tanner pounded her with savage words and cruel untruths, stripping her of her hard fought for self-worth.

Then he shook his head. She wasn’t that woman any longer: the determined slant to her mouth; the resolute and firm manner in which she’d stood by her idea to break Tanner until he no longer wanted her; the way she’d held herself as she’d walked out of the bar, spine erect, shoulders back.

The feel of her lips on his cheek as she’d whispered her goodbyes, not a tremor or waver to her voice, despite the storm that must have been swirling through her gut.

His cell lit up, catching his eye. A text from Draven.

If you don’t tell me where you are, motherfucker, I’m going to get every cop in Manhattan looking for you. Imagine the embarrassment. D

He didn’t expect to be capable of a smile until Millie was safely back in his arms, so his twitching lips came as a bit of a surprise. Anyone who didn’t know Draven might think he was making an idle threat. He wasn’t.

Cole stabbed out the name of the bar and hit send. He gestured to the bartender once more.

Surprisingly, it took Draven two hours to arrive. Cole got unsteadily to his feet as Draven tossed his jacket over a nearby chair, but instead of shaking Cole’s outstretched hand, Draven took a swing and punched Cole in the face, laying him out on the deck.

Cole clutched his nose, warm blood oozing between his fingers and onto his lips and chin. Damn, that big bastard had a hell of a punch. His nose hurt like a bitch. Cole staggered to his feet.

“What the fuck was that for?” he said, his voice sounding thick and muffled, probably because his nose was broken.

“I don’t want no trouble,” the bartender said.

Draven silenced him with a single glance. Yeah, he had that effect on a lot of people.

“Two things,” Draven said, glowering at Cole. “Firstly, do you know there are seven bars with the same name in Manhattan, and this is the sixth one I tried.”

Cole grabbed a handful of napkins off the bar and began to mop the blood off of his face and hands. “You should have texted me back.”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, fucking ‘oh’. And secondly—which really deserves another punch, but as I can’t break your nose twice, I’ll let it slide—you really gonna simply let Millie walk away? Again? Fuck’s sake, Cole. Fight for her, man. Step up to the goddamn plate. You keep doing the same old shit, you know what you’ll get? Yep, same old fucking shit. Your woman is out there with that creep, and you’re in here drowning your sorrows in bourbon. Get off your sorry ass and protect her, or so help me God, I will.”

Cole scowled at his friend. It hurt like a bitch because of his bloody nose, but he did it anyway. “What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? If it was only me who’d suffer, I’d have knocked Tanner on his ass before Millie went anywhere near him. But it isn’t. If he puts that video online, Jax could lose everything. I can’t do that to him, not after what he gave up when Mom and Dad passed away. I have to find another way to get Millie back.”

Draven shook his head. “Well, sitting here ain’t gonna solve anything, is it? Anyway, I call bullshit on this fucker’s ass. Smelly, stinky, dog-crap-on-your-shoe bullshit. You’re a cop. I’m a cop. Let’s dig until we get some dirt on this bastard. Coz don’t tell me someone who abuses his wife, who attempts to blackmail her into going back to him, is all hearts and fucking roses. Well, two can play that game, and I’m guessing we’ll play it a lot better than that shithead. Now get me a goddamn whiskey and let’s get planning.”

Cole stared at him in stunned silence. Draven was a man who didn’t like to waste oxygen, yet he’d made two impassioned speeches in as many minutes. But he had a point. Several, in fact.

With his tail up, Cole ordered another round of drinks, and the two of them took a seat in a booth away from the flapping ears of the bartender.

“You’re right. Sitting here isn’t going to do jack shit.” He curled his hands into fists. “When I’ve finished with that bastard, he’ll be eating through a goddamn straw for the rest of his life.”

Draven gave a crooked smile. “Cool your jets. You’ll get your chance, but having your ass thrown in jail is hardly gonna help now, is it?” He tapped his temple. “Let’s be smart about this, think it through. We need some leverage.”

“You really think he’s hiding something?” Cole asked, the first stirrings of hope burgeoning within him.

Draven shrugged. “We won’t know unless we dig. But ask yourself this. How many times did he come to New York since Millie left him?”

Cole twisted his lips. “Three or four?”

“That we know of.”

“What are you getting at?”

“How is he funding those trips?”

“No idea.”

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s a small-time coach for the Chicago Bears. Helps out with the juniors and the younger kids.”

“So, they’re not exactly rolling in cash, yet Tanner made the trip out here four times, at least?”

“Maybe he earns more than he let on to Millie.”

Draven leaned in. “Or maybe his earnings aren’t all that kosher.” He got to his feet and shrugged into his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Cole asked.

“I’m going to find out where he stayed while he was here. Might give me a bit more intel. You are going to the hospital to get your nose fixed and then try to make contact with someone on the Chicago police force. Let’s see if the name Tanner Fuckhead means anything to them.”

Cole knocked back the rest of his drink in a bid to control the tornado swirling in his gut. Draven’s plan of attack was the right one, although that didn’t quell the urge to jump on a plane to Chicago and go get his girl. His insides were wound tighter than a coiled spring, but he had to play the long game, even if it killed him.

The hospital confirmed his nose was broken. They reset it and made him a follow-up appointment, warning him to expect a couple of nice shiners. Bastard Draven. He’d wait until Draven least expected it and then return the favor. If Cole had to put up with a crooked nose for the rest of his life, his best bud was going to suffer the same fate.

Now he’d begun to sober up, his head pounded with one hell of a hangover. He’d go home, crash for a few hours, then call Chicago PD. He could hardly do much in this state. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He knew he’d made a mistake going home, because the minute he walked into the hotel, Jax and Calum descended on him. They must have been keeping watch, waiting for him to turn up.

“The fuck you been?” Calum bit out, face like thunder. “And what the hell happened to your nose?”

“We’ve been worried,” Jax, the much calmer and pragmatic of the two, added.

Cole ignored both of them, but when they followed him downstairs, with Calum snapping at his heels like a rabid dog, Cole rounded on them both.

“Fuck off and leave me alone.”

“What’s going on? Why did Millie pack up all her stuff and leave yesterday?”

Cole shoved Calum hard in the chest. “I said fuck off. I don’t need this shit right now. Give me some space.”

Cole stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. Calum burst through it, Jax at his shoulder.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You go AWOL and expect us to carry on as normal? You call in sick to work—don’t bother denying it because I phoned them when you didn’t come home. You stink of booze and you need a shower, and your girlfriend has packed up and shipped out.” He sneered. “What is it, Cole? Had a spat? Was she the one who broke your nose? Don’t tell me, you’ve been steppin’ out.”

As Calum railed on him, all of Cole’s pent-up anger and fury spilled over. He was sick of being the reasonable one, the peacemaker, the one they all expected to fix their shit and resolve their arguments. He’d had enough. And as Calum was the closest…

He slammed his fist into Calum’s face. Calum staggered backward but somehow managed to stay upright. Not for long. Cole flew at him, and they both ended up on the floor. He got at least two more punches in—one to the face and one to the stomach—then Jax hauled Cole to his feet. Calum scrambled upright and lunged, but Jax got in between the pair of them, a palm on each chest, keeping them apart.

“Enough! You’re grown assed men, for Christ’s sake. Act like it.” Jax turned to Cole—not Calum, Cole noted—and said, “What’s gotten into the both of you?”

“He started it,” Calum said childishly.

Cole poked his finger in Calum’s direction. “No, you started it with your constant questions and nasty remarks about me and Millie. I’m sick of you. In fact, I’m sick of this whole goddamned family. I’m sick of always being the good one, the quiet one, the one who doesn’t really matter because, oh well, it’s just Cole. He’ll be fine whatever the fuck happens. We don’t need to consider his feelings because he’ll just go with the fucking flow.”

He only realized he was shouting when the red mist cleared long enough for him to see properly. Jax and Calum were both staring, open mouthed, with an expression of genuine dismay on their faces. Cole’s chest heaved, and he struggled for breath. His legs gave way, as much from exhaustion and over-indulgence in alcohol as the argument with his brothers. Luckily, he was standing by the bed, so the mattress broke his fall.

Jax was the first to move, scraping a hand through his hair, but Calum remained frozen to the spot.

“How long have you felt like this?” Jax asked quietly, coming to sit beside him.

Cole hitched a shoulder. His anger withered, then died. “A while, I guess.”

“How long is a while?” Jax pressed.

Cole turned to his oldest brother. “Years.”

Jax swept a hand over his face and muttered, “Jesus.”

Finally, Calum spoke. “I feel like an utter shit.” He strode across the room, dragged Cole to his feet, and hugged the ever-loving life out of him, and then let him go just as abruptly.

“Bro, I’m so sorry. I know I’m a mouthy arrogant bastard who has far too much to say —at least that’s what Laurella told me last night.” He grinned briefly. When Cole didn’t return his twin’s smile, Calum looked him dead in the eye. “But you are the glue that sticks this family together. Jax might have been the one determined we would stay close as a family, but it’s you that made it possible. If it weren’t for you, we’d have torn each other apart years ago.”

“It’s true, Cole,” Jax said gently. “If any of us had known how you were feeling…” He tapered off almost as though he couldn’t find the right words.

Cole didn’t help him out either. He’d said his piece. No need to labor the point.

“Do you want to tell us what happened? With Millie, I mean?” Calum asked. His twin radar must be working, because he’d correctly picked up on Cole’s desire to move on.

Exhaling slowly, Cole brought his brothers up to speed. By the time he’d finished, they were both wearing the sort of shell-shocked expression he imagined he’d been sporting since he realized he had no choice but to let her carry out her plan. And Jax reacted exactly as Cole had expected him to. Selflessly.

“Screw the video. Screw the hotel. Go get her back.”

Cole raked his hands through his hair. “You don’t know what it will be like, Jax. The press won’t let this go. Remember that detective from Florida a few years ago? Penfold I think his name was. Similar scenario. In the end there was no case to answer, but by then it was too late; he lost his job, his home, his wife. Jesus, even his friends didn’t want anything to do with him. Millie was adamant she wouldn’t let that happen. Dammit, neither of us will let that happen to this family. Draven and I are working on a plan. If we come up empty, then we’ll think about alternatives. But for now, I want to try the path that will cause the least amount of damage, even if it’s fucking killing me inside to leave her with that bastard for a single minute.”

“What’s the plan?” Calum asked.

Cole gave him a look. “I’m not dragging the whole family into this. Draven and I will handle it.”

Calum gripped his shoulders, his fingers digging in. “You know where we are if you need anything.”

Ten minutes ago, Calum would have argued, demanded Cole tell him what the plan was, but whether Cole’s outburst had really hit home, or Calum had decided Cole was right remained to be seen. Regardless, he appreciated the gesture.

“I do. Now can you two fuck off out of here? I need a shower and some sleep. It’s going to be a long few days.”