Page 159 of Rebel Hawke

I probably should have.

He more than deserves it after what he’s done.

Coen struggles against my hold, hands wrapping around my wrist to try to get me to release him. “L-let me g-g-go.”

The rage boiling through my blood wants me to keep him here, to press harder against his throat until he can’t breathe anymore and crumples. But the fact that I actually love the SOB makes me relent, and I release him, letting him slump against the wall as I retreat.

“Where the fuck have you been, Coen?”

He takes a step forward and rubs at his neck, though I’m sure I didn’t really hurt him—even if he does deserve it. “My phone was off. I just got back to town for the opening and thought it must be important for you to have called and texted that many times…”

“Fuck.”

It is important.

Monumentally.

I run my palm across my cheek, trying to control the burning fury now I finally have somewhere to direct it. My hand tightens around the gun. “And you thought showing up at my place unannounced at two in the fucking morning without calling was a great idea?”

Coen sighs, then glances up toward the bedroom. “Shit. Is Wren here?”

“Of course she’s fucking here.” I stalk over to the coffee table to pull out my phone and set down my gun—so I won’t be so tempted to use it. “Now, be quiet. I don’t need her hearing any of this.”

I fire off a quick text to her.

Everything is fine but stay up there until I come get you.

Coen has the audacity to appear miffed. “What’s going on? What don’t you want her to hear?”

I snarl at him, drop my phone next to my gun, and grasp the front of his shirt, practically lifting him off the ground again. “Do you really not know, Coen?Really?”

Wide eyes stare at me, filled with confusion and fear. He isn’t used to me directing any ire at him, but he knows what I’m capable of in this state as well as anyone.

He holds up his hands. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Thebet, Coen.” I struggle to keep my voice low. “You betagainstme.”

Coen opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s struggling to find some excuse. But absolutely nothing he can say could justify what he did or the mess he’s created.

Nothing.

I shove him away, letting him stumble back against the couch. “Don’t even try to fucking deny it.” Shoving my hands through my hair, I pace away from him, putting much-needed distance between us before I do something I can’t take back. “I had a visit from Satriano last week. He came to tell me that you placed a rather large wager against me in the fight.”

“How—” Coen gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly with the motion. “How could he know that?”

Stepping toward him again, I fist my hands at my sides until they ache. “It was withhisbookies, Coen.”

His eyes widen. “No.” He shakes his head. “They weren’t…”

He trails off, the realization that he’s fucked up hitting him hard enough to make him stagger back and drop down onto the couch.

Satriano controlseverything,and Coen is just figuring that the fuck out now.

Seething, my skin hot and tight, barely able to contain my desire to throttle the man who has been like a brother to me, I stand over him. “How the fuckcouldyou?”

Coen sighs and drops his face into his hands. “I did it months ago, after the shooting, when I thought…” He looks up at me, regret and pity in his gaze. “When I thought there was no way in fucking hell you were coming back. I thought it was a sure thing.”

His words land squarely against my sternum, knocking me back a step.

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