Page 78 of Dirty Love

I’m handcuffed and marched downstairs, but our story of investigating Grant on Tabitha’s behalf flies well enough with the Feds that I’m released before we even get out of the warehouse.

When we step outside, they’re loading Grant into an unmarked car. Huh. Apparently I didn’t kill him after all, although the side of his face looks like my fists did a good number on him.

Not fucking sorry.

He says something which I don’t catch, andwith a hiss, Tabitha launches herself out of my arms. I don’t even try to stop her. Her outstretched hand connects to his face, somewhere between a slap and a gouging scratch, before he’s shoved the rest of the way into the car.

Shame it wasn’t Cole holding him instead of an FBI agent. We aren’t above holding a man down so the woman he’s injured grievously can take out her vengeance on him.

I still believe more than most that violence has its place.

There’s darkness in this world, and it doesn’t respond to polite requests or even cold edicts. It must be brought to its knees by the fist, the hiss, and a solid knee to the groin.

Although the legal system has its place, too.

She’s shaking and crying again when she folds into my arms. I suddenly realize it’s freezing, and I try to cover as much of her body with mine as I can.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair.

She hiccups into my chest. “You wanted me to come and see you fight.”

“Not tonight. Not ever. Not like this.”

“You were fighting for me.”

“Nothing pretty about it…”

“No.” She drags in a ragged breath, then sniffles again. “I guess not.”

I clutch her to me, then raise my head, searching for my guys. Cole is right there. “Go on,” he says. “Get out of here. Tag will drive you wherever you want to go.”

—thirty-seven—

Tabitha

At some point after we get in the car, I realize Wilson’s covered in blood. Some dry, but not all. There’s some fresh oozing on his middle finger that makes my stomach twist. He’s holding me tight to his left side, and when I reach across and touch his right hand, he winces.

I jerk my attention to his face. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I promise I’m fine. I need a shower and a mouthful of pills, that’s all.”

“You’re hurt.” I touch his swollen knuckles.

“You’re not the only one who got in a hit or two on Grant tonight.” He groans. “But the glass in my elbow is more of a problem.”

“Glass!” I turn to the guy driving the car and tap on his seat. “He needs to see a doctor.”

Wilson tugs me back into his side. “Tag will check out the cuts and stitch me up at the hotel if I need that.”

That sounds like something I’m going to have to protest again.

I’m also not sure how we’re going to get up to his room covered in blood, without attracting any attention.

Apparently I’m underestimating how normal this is for these guys. Tag parks underground and hops out. When he opens my door, he’s got a way-too-big-for-me parka in his hands. “Slide this on,” he says, gently helping me out, and my arms into the coat. “I’ll zip it up. There you go.”

I’m shaking pretty hard now.

This must be shock setting in.

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