Page 100 of A Little Broken

Steeling her shoulders, Rory orders, “Tatum, put the drink down.”

She reaches for the bottle, but I tug it away from her. “And why would I do that? Aren’t we supposed to eat, drink, and be merry? A wedding’s a celebration, isn’t it?” I scoff. “And who doesn’t want to commemorate your big brother’s death by pretending he never existed, am I right?”

She jerks away as if I’ve slapped her. “What the fuck, Tate? Did you really just say that?”

My body floods with regret. “Shit. I didn’t…”

“Didn’t mean to throw my brother’s death in my face like that?” Her eyes flood with crocodile tears, and her bottom lipwobbles. “I know you hate Mav for surviving when Archer didn’t, but they’re both my brothers, Tatum.Bothof them.”

I shake my head, but the cotton in my mouth is too thick to push past. Besides, even if it wasn’t, what’s there to say? That it isn’t true? That I don’t hate Mav for surviving when he’s always been the lesser brother? Instead, I simply stand there, watching my best friend take a brutal blow straight to the chin while knowing I’m the one who dealt it.

“I know how much you wish your favorite Buchanan would’ve survived, but I can’t play that game, Tate. Honestly, I refuse to.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and she angrily wipes it away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home. You can call an Uber.” Then, she bolts toward the front door. I shake my head, willing the ground to swallow me whole and put me out of my misery once and for all.

I’m such a bitch. And to the person who deserves it least.

Bringing the bottle to my lips once more, I pour the burning liquid down my throat, savoring the trail of blazing heat. After all, I deserve it, don’t I?

Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

30

PAXTON

You’d think with all the money I have, I’d be able to enjoy my own party without putting out fires. Literally. Someone tried to light a firework in the kitchen. They probably thought this was a Harden party. Hell, maybe Hawke or Ford bribed them to do it, just to be dicks.

I wouldn’t put it past them.

As I stride into the main room, I find a group of guys huddled around something. What the hell? Straightening my spine, I peer over their heads. A half-naked Tatum is standing on a coffee table in the center of the room. With her back arched, she twerks an inch from some asshole’s face, and he reaches up, palming her backside. Rage sparks at the image, and my long legs close the distance before I stop short, recognizing Roman at the edge of the show.

“What’s she doing?” I growl.

Roman barely casts me a glance, choosing to stare at a half-naked Tatum dancing on the coffee table instead as he strokes his chin. “Dancing? I guess?” he offers dryly. “Apparently, she’s done with the body shots.”

“Body shots?” I repeat. My blood boils as the words roll off my tongue.

He gives me the side-eye, warning, “You might want to stay away from tonight’s video footage.”

“Fucking hell.” Shoving my way through the throng of lust-thirsty men surrounding the coffee table, I order, “Tatum, get your ass down here.”

Her eyes are glassy and unfocused as she looks down at me and grins, biting her bottom lip. “You’re sexy when you’re bossy, Pax.”

“Get down here,” I repeat, my tone as sharp as before.

With a slow shake of her head, she runs her hands along her curves and sways her hips from side to side, looking like a fucking porn star in the dress I gave her.

I’m gonna kill her.

My glare deepens. “Everyone out!” I yell. “Now!”

“Aw, come on,” Tatum pouts. “You wanted me to party, remember?” She tilts her head back, her long, dark hair falling over her face as her red lips part. “Now I’m partying.”

No, now, she’s spiraling.

“Roman!” I bellow.

My friend calls to someone else before the music cuts off like a scene in an old chick flick. One by one, Roman ushers people from the house as Tatum glares down at me from the coffee table. “I wasn’t finished?—”

“Get off the table, Tatum.”

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