Page 9 of Without Fail

Marshal scowled and moved people out of his way as he headed through the gyrating crowd. Brandon hurried at his heels like a scolded puppy. Cliff and Mateo both gave him a nod and stepped out of the way when he reached the table.

Marshal gazed up at Ryker. The matte makeup was expertly applied and sealed to the beauty’s face, otherwise it would have melted beneath the lights. Christian’s handiwork, no doubt. The wig looked so natural it was hard to imagine any other color in its place.

Marshal knew the real color of Ryker’s hair and this paled in comparison to the strawberry blond that had covered the man’s head before the accident. A scar peeked, barely visible, from beneath the edge of the crop top. People wouldn’t be able to see it, but Marshal knew where every scar on Ryker’s body was located. After the accident that had almost taken the man’s life, he had seen Ryker’s medical report on the extensive injuries. He knew the scars by heart.

Instead of yanking Ryker from the table like he wanted to, he closed a firm hand around the man’s slender ankle.

Slowly, Ryker’s lids lifted and his head tipped down to gaze at him. Blond hair spilled forward, caressing the curve of the man’s face. The bone structure that had launched Belle Industries was delicate, the man above him stunning. Ryker’s glittering blue eyes caught and held his own.

“What are you doing?” Marshal said gruffly.

Ryker smirked and lifted one finger to his ear, shaking his head—a clear sign that he either couldn’t hear him or wasn’t listening.

“Get down from there,” Marshal said louder, trying to rein in his temper.

Ignoring him, Ryker kept dancing and Marshal clenched his teeth before shooting a glare at Syn.

“How much has he drunk?”

“A lot?” Syn’s brow quirked. Bishop stood behind Syn’s chair with both hands resting lightly on the young billionaire’s shoulders. Syn tipped his dark head to one side and rubbed his cheek against one of Bishop’s hands.

“You’re his friend, how can you let him drink so much?” he growled.

“Because I’m his friend and I know what he needs,” Syn bit the words out.

Marshal’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth and he scowled, tightening his hand around Ryker’s ankle.

Ryker crouched in one swoop. The man went from standing to resting on his heels and reaching for a drink Marshal hadn’t seen. When Ryker lifted the glass of some fruity drink, Marshal closed his other hand around Ryker’s forearm.

Very slowly, Ryker turned his head to stare at him.

“What?” Even though the word was spoken beneath the thumping beat, Marshal was so close he heard it.

“Don’t drink any more,” he answered quietly, holding that searching blue gaze.

“Come home then,” Ryker said.

Shit.

Marshal realized he should not have come here. A clean break had been better for everyone and mostly Ryker. And Marshal would have gotten free if not for the fact that the young mogul had almost been killed. The cold fear he’d felt when a cement truck had plowed into Syn’s town car carrying Ryker couldn’t be described. But it was during that time that Marshal knew he had made the right decision to leave the Langstons a while ago.

“I can’t do that,” he murmured. Holding Ryker’s gaze, his mouth went dry and as always, his stomach muscles clenched in the face of Ryker’s beauty.

“Then fuck off.” Ryker stood and kicked his ankle free.

Marshal hissed and brought his burning fingers to his mouth.

“Sorry, princess. I can’t do that either,” he muttered and reached up to catch Ryker around the waist. He lifted Ryker down from the table and placed him on his feet.

“Asshole!” Ryker kicked him in the shin.

Fuck! Marshal hopped on one leg, rubbing his shin with one hand.

Rather than return to the tabletop, Ryker dropped down in a sexy sprawl on the leather seat and tossed one arm around the scantily clad woman in a see-through mini dress.

It was Ryker’s new fiancé, Hailey Baldwin of the Denver Baldwins. She was impeccable, had breeding, and was hands-down gorgeous. He wanted to break the hand she slid up Ryker’s thigh.

“Hi, Marshal!”

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