Page 27 of Savage Salvation

“Yeah. Sure,” I mutter.

Just as I’m about to make good on my promise to slam the door on his hand, Memphis says, “He told me he gave you a key to his place.” His laugh is somber as he continues, “I don’t even have a key to his house. No one does except Hayden.”

“It doesn’t mean—”

Memphis cuts off my words. “He also told me he booked y’all the show so you’d have a decent place to sleep for one night since he knew you’d never use the key. So, please tell me why a guy who doesn’t give a fuck about you would do that. And that’s just lately.”

Why does the phrase just lately make me so unnerved? How many other events in my life have been orchestrated by Gage without me realizing?

“You should go,” my mouth says, but I don’t make a move to close the door. Because I know I can’t. And it’s not because of Memphis’s hand.

“Please. I’ll do anything. I swear. Just get him to open the door. He would care enough to try to help you if it were reversed.”

“Move your fucking hand,” I scream, and Memphis jerks his hand away as I slam the door closed, pull the latch off, and throw it back open. “You’re right. Except he’d beat the fucking door down whether I wanted to open it or not.” And that sounds like the best plan to deal with him right now.

“True.” Memphis doesn’t deny his barbaric friend’s ways as he turns and walks down the corridor. I follow him as we make our way to the opposite side on the same floor that my room is on. Big. Shocker.

But I hear what has Memphis on edge as a loud crash sounds on the other side of the door. Memphis raises his fist and pounds on the door. “Gage, open up.”

A string of shouts, curses, and orders to get lost sound from the other side. Why does he expect people to leave him be when he takes it upon himself to insert his stupid face into whatever scene he wants?

“Kinsley is out here with me. Let us in.”

Here we go.

The shouts get louder, words harsher as the door swings open, revealing a full-on, infuriated Gage. His hand on the door, his scraped-up knuckles catch my eye. He looks at me like he’s surprised for a second, maybe thinking Memphis was screwing with him, but his anger returns. “Get the fuck out of here. Both of you.”

I should be scared. Or at least heed his advice since his temper is clearly throttled up to his maximum hot-headedness. But the furious man-child throwing a fit for me to leave him alone brings a cynical laugh from me as Memphis springs into action, shoving past Gage and into the room. But Gage’s hot-headed temper stays on me. “I said get the fuck out of here.”

“Gage, stop!” Memphis yells, drawing the rage his way as I stupidly step into the room and shut the door behind me.

“Why the fuck did you bring her here?” Gage picks up an already broken desk lamp and flings it at Memphis who sidesteps as it hits the wall. That’s when I assess the room. Its layout mirrors the serene one I’d just left. But this one is completely trashed, nothing about it serene, only chaotic like its tenant.

“Because he actually gives a shit, unlike you.” The blunt words leave my mouth and disbelief covers Memphis’s face. He might coddle the bastard, but I won’t.

Gage stays with his back to me. His shoulders rising and falling in quick succession until he deliberately turns. Stalking his way across the room with eerie composure after the frenzy he was just exhibiting, his voice is calm and even as he asks, “And why are you here?”

“Because she obviously gives a shit, dumbass,” Memphis says.

Gage keeps his eyes on me. “Don’t speak for her. Let her answer for herself. Why are you here?”

“Memphis asked me here because you wouldn’t open the door.” The words fade off as I stare into Gage’s tormented face. I know why I came to this room. But I don’t know why I’m still standing in it.

“Then go.” Gage turns his back to me, and Memphis tells him to be nice and calm down, neither of which I expect him to comply with.

Whether he’s going to be nice or not, I can’t stop myself from saying, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

His posture strains, his back to me as he says flatly, “I’m not.”

Ah. Covering pain with sarcasm and hostility. I know that one all too well. “Then why does this room look like a bomb exploded in it?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

His back is still to me as I walk around him, wanting to see his face. Have him see mine. “I don’t.” And I normally don’t. But when it comes to Gage. I do a lot of shit I normally wouldn’t do.

Gage keeps a flat, even tone on his voice, his eyes locked with mine. “Death was too easy. A heart attack and seconds later he’s dead. That motherfucker croaked before I had the opportunity to make him pay for his sins, to inflict as much pain and suffering on him as he did on everyone else.” His legs look like they give out, or like they were knocked out from underneath him, reminding me of the moment it happened at the Den. It takes everything I have not to surge forward as his hands come up, fingers moving into his hair. He grips and pulls like he wants every thought in his head to leave as the strangled words leave his mouth. “As he did on me. He was supposed to suffer.”

Suffering. That’s the only word that I can relate to Gage right now. The brutal tyrant who wreaks havoc on an unsuspecting world (mainly mine) looks like a heaping pile of devastation.