Chapter 23

I’m an asshole. Even if I’m nicer to you than anyone else. Even if I love the hell out of you. Even if you’re my favorite person ever. I’m going to be an asshole forever and always.

Reagan

I knew that there was someone following us.

I also knew that, in a matter of moments, my father had known what Tyler knew.

What I wasn’t sure about was whether I was going to make it even a mile past where we were seeing as Tyler had done something to piss Dusty off—which was tell him that we were getting married.

Tyler, although he declared that it was going to happen, the asking for my hand in marriage part hadn’t actually happened. So, his words, although true to a certain extent, weren’t a sure thing yet, either.

Though, that was a lie.

Tyler was mine. He didn’t have to ask me to marry him.

I knew I was going to marry him.

I could feel it in my soul. The man was mine. His love was mine. His kisses and hugs were mine. His sins and doubts were mine. His anger and pain was mine. Everything that he wanted to give and even some of the things that he didn’t, was mine. I’d do just about anything to make that a reality—to make sure he was safe.

Which meant I wasn’t above punching Dusty in the throat when he was driving eighty miles an hour in order to set a bomb off because he didn’t like someone’s words.

Dusty fiddled with the phone, flipping it open and closed, as if he was battling a war within himself not to do the thing that some part of his subconscious was urging him to follow through with.

All I knew was that if Dusty made that final choice and did anything before the time he’d given Tyler as we’d departed, I was going to make my move.

I knew that Tyler would figure out how to keep the town of Hostel safe—and that included himself.

I also knew that we had an escort and as long as I didn’t make any threatening moves and screw the pooch, I would make it out of this alive—and not as Dusty’s wife.

But, they say, all good plans have the potential to be FUBAR—fucked up beyond all repair. It’s also why one is supposed to have a plan B, in case plan A goes up in a goddamn ball of flames.

Just like right then.

Something snapped in Dusty.

One second, he was holding the phone tight and the next he growled and started to pull over.

Once he was on the shoulder, he turned to me with an accusing look in his eye.

“Were you really going to marry him?” he snarled.

I didn’t see the point in lying.

It was obvious that he was already quite pissed.

“Yes,” I answered honestly.

His eyes went electric. “You’re. Mine.”

It was at that point that I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have laughed in his face. What I also shouldn’t have done was close my eyes as my guffaws of hilarity poured through me.

Otherwise I would’ve seen him coming.

The only good thing that I could say was that at least he used the phone to smash into my face—effectively breaking it into two unusable pieces.

The bad was that the blow to the face stunned me and I couldn’t fight back for a few precious seconds. During those seconds where I was immobilized, I never expected another vicious punch to the stomach.

Or, at least, what I thought was a punch.

The screaming pain didn’t come until after Dusty was yanked out of the car straight through the hole that had once been the glass of the window.

I also didn’t expect my father to be the one to do the breaking of said window…with his fist.

The passenger side door opened right around the time I stared in awe at the sight of Dusty’s feet leaving the vehicle and I turned to see who was at my back.

I broke down when I saw it was Rome.

Or, that might’ve been because my stomach was on fire.

Either way, I wasn’t in a good place when he pulled me from Dusty’s car.

The good thing was that Rome caught me when my feet decided to no longer support me.

And when I passed out, I was in my father’s arms.

My last conscious thought was of Tyler and whether he’d made it through just as safely as I did.