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It fucking hurt so bad that the room whitened out. Instead of striking the uninjured side of his head, the man had backhanded him on the scars.
Pain sliced through his jaw, chin, and temple, sending him to his knees. He fell sideways from there, catching himself with his hands before dropping to the floor. The cold wood felt good beneath his throbbing cheek.
A metallic taste filled his mouth, dripping from the corner to pool beneath his cheek.
His gun had toppled to the floor with a thunk and his father reached down to pick it up just as the door to the man’s office crashed open.
The access panel popped open and Marshal stepped through the opening.
The bodyguard shoved Robert Langston away from him so hard that his father slammed his ass on the floor. Marshal’s strong arms were lifting him up and carrying him out of the room.
The hallway swirled and Ryker fought down throwing up.
Orders were shouted and he heard gunfire going off in another part of the house.
“Hang tight.”
Were those tears filling Marshal’s voice?
He must be hallucinating. He’d never heard the man have such a ragged-sounding tone before.
He wanted to comfort Marshal, but he was too worried about the bodyguard’s actions.
Marshal had shoved his father and Ryker knew Robert Langston would never let that slide. Just as he’d gotten Marshalback into the house, now there was a risk of him being kicked out…or worse.
Ryker curled against Marshal, wrapping his arms tightly around the man’s thick neck, clinging. If he held on tight enough, perhaps that would help. Stupid thinking, but the blow to his face had knocked his brain sideways…at least it felt that way to him.
The arm beneath his legs and the one cradling against his back tightened like branding irons of power.
The funny thing about power was that it could kill or protect.
Marshal had the kind of power that came instinctual—a power that blanketed those in need. On the other hand, his father was filled with a sinister power born out of greed.
That left Ryker with one question in particular. When his father came after Marshal, he knew he had a choice to make…
Who would he stand with?
The man he loved or the man who’d raised him?
Several hours later…
Marshal shifted on the hard seat, elbows on his thighs as he rubbed at his face tiredly. Dropping his hands, he leaned his head against the white wall of the hospital room.
The constant beeping of the monitor next to Ryker’s bed was reassuring. What was not comforting was the fact that the doctors had put Ryker into a deep sleep to assess and repair the damage to his face.
Instead of shoving Langston to the floor, he should have knocked the living shit out of the abusive motherfucker.
That was next on his list. If Langston thought he got away from answering for hitting Ryker, Marshal would teach the man it was certainly not the case.
The fucker was going to pay the price for his actions.
“The doctor says he’s going to be fine.”
Marshal lifted his head and gazed at Real, who had chosen to stand against the wall instead of taking a seat in one of the hard ass chairs.
“Thanks for being here,” Marshal croaked.
“I didn’t make it in time for the round-up at Langston’s place,” Real pointed out.
