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Bring help.
“What do you need?” Real’s voice came as if from far away when the room morphed in around him.
“I need help now,” he choked into the phone.
Out the windshield, he spotted Aspen, Tristan, and Cohen walking down the front steps.
He rolled down the window. “Go back inside and call 911 and send them to Ryker’s address,” he told Cohen.
Tristan gave him a firm nod and wrapped an arm around Aspen to guide him back toward the house. Cohen followed, now on the phone.
Aspen’s face had been filled with such terror that it had been hard to watch. But he couldn’t stay and reassure them about anything.
Not when Ryker’s life was at stake.
“Marshal?” Real snapped. “Talk to me.”
He rammed the truck into reverse and peeled out of the driveway. “The home I’m protecting is under siege,” he growled, his palms around the steering wheel grew slick from sweat.
“It’s going to take me two and a half hours on the private jet to get there,” Real told him, but Marshal heard the man on the move through the phone.
Over two hours…Which made sense because Real was currently in California.
“You want to sit tight until I call you?” Marshal took the corner fast, tires squealing.
“Fuck no, I’ll be there,” Real growled and ended the call.
Marshal punched in Ryker’s address to Real’s phone. He then pulled up an app on his phone that would show him the video feed inside the Langston estate.
He snapped the phone into the holder on the dashboard and ran the feed as he punched the gas and took the on-ramp to the freeway.
A cold sweat broke out as the scene unfolded on the video.
And he drove with his heart in his throat.
Real sat back down on the edge of the bed and reached for his pants on the floor.
“Leaving so soon?”
“Last night was…nice.” He had to search for that word. Shoving his feet into his slacks, he stood to pull them up over his briefs.
The slender man in the bed scooted over and gripped his thigh. “Can we do it again sometime?”
Tugging his t-shirt over his head, Real pulled on his socks and combat boots.
Ah…that was a hard no.
He never went back for seconds from casual hookups. This one had tempted him and that was only because of his build, dark eyes, and equally dark hair.
“Maybe.” He avoided the guy’s searching gaze.
The man ran a hand through his own hair and sighed before getting up, naked, from the bed. “Here’s my number.” A piece of paper was pressed into the front pocket of his jeans.
Stepping out of the apartment door, he closed it and glanced around trying to get his bearings.
They’d taken an Uber to get there from the club last night because he’d been way too drunk to drive. Stepping around trash littered on the walkway, he reached the street and pulled his phone out.
It was blown up with missed messages.
