Page 19 of On the Rocks
My shot's worthless. Kind of like this entire fucking afternoon. Unable to focus on anything but getting back to her. Not just because I’m fucking obsessed. Which I fully admit to myself although no one else. But because she seemed so damn uncertain. Hesitant to be swept away with women she doesn’t know for fun she doesn’t really want.
Guilt. That’s what the weird sensation is in my chest. So foreign. But I recognize the emotion enough to know she’s suffering because of me. My stupid ass overwhelming her with my life and my family. Rather than taking my time and letting her get used to everything. Them. Us. Me.
While Dad lines up his putt, I yank out my phone like the pussy whipped motherfucker that I am. Nothing. Not sure if that’s a good sign or not. Fuck me. Unable to resist, I tap the screen.
Are you enjoying yourself?
A bit of the agony in my gut subsides when she reads it. But after a few seconds fire roars through my veins. She doesn’t fucking answer.
Sunshine?
Nothing. God damn fucking shit. She knows better than to fuck with me.
Answer me Trinity.
What the fuck? This is not like her. At all. She’s never petulant. Something’s wrong. Something’s really fucking wrong. Fear unlike I’ve ever experienced slithers through my core, squeezing the oxygen out of my lungs.
I scroll for Butcher.
UPDAY
Fucking shit I’m raging so hard I’m almost fucking blind.
UPDATE NOW
Fucking nothing. Just like her. Except he didn’t even read my text.
I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here and find her. Fuck my clubs. My ball. My game. All I want is my wife. I shove my putter into the back and jump into the cart.
"What the fuck? You're leaving?"
My head shakes from my brother's irritated tone as the bile crawls up throat. "Trinity."
He nods. Well aware no one fucks with us. Or our women. If I'm bailing on our father, then the situation must be fucking dire.
"Let me drive."
Coherent enough to know I'll probably fucking kill anyone who gets in my way, I slide over. Releasing the brake, he shoves the gear into drive and waves to our Dad.
"Come on! We've got to go!"
With a quick head bob, he swipes his ball off the green and jogs toward his bag. Responding instantly to the urgency in Noah's voice. No more explanation needed from his decisive tone.
Other golfers shoot shitty looks at us from speeding down the cart path bypassing the playing order as well as all the rules and proper decorum of this exclusive course. Fuck them and their annoyance. Noah slams the brakes at the pro shop, and I hop out, racing into the hotel. Leaving my shit for the course staff to deal with.
I want Trinity, and I want her fucking now.
The soothing instrumental music in the spa conflicts with my agitation. Blazing even hotter from my mom and sister-in-law arguing with a sobbing woman near the ceiling to floor waterfall covering the back wall.
Mom catches sight of me and gasps. Horror almost as strong as mine blanches her face. "What did she say? Is she okay?"
It takes everything I have not to explode from the blood soaked towel in her hand. "Is that from Trinity?"
Her wide eyes meet mine, and she slowly nods. Fucking confirming that my wife's blood has been shed. That despite all the fucking protection and promises and preparation, my wife has been hurt. Butcher's a fucking dead man. I whisper so I don't scream. "Where is she?"
"Upstairs. Butcher took her to your room."
I tear out of the reception area with Noah and Dad on my heels. Sprinting up the stairs, our spikes pound on the concrete steps. Echoing almost as loud as the adrenaline beating in my ears. She better be all right. She better be fucking fine.
