Page 222 of Face Off

“You wanted the gutter,” I say beside his ear. “This is the part you don’t understand. Men where I come from learn quickly that the loudest motherfucker in the room is usually the weakest. You spent your entire life controlling people who were afraid of losing what you could take from them. I came here with nothing you gave me, and I will leave with nothing you can take.”

I release his wrist and stand, backing away before Cade or Briggs has to ask me.

Lance pushes himself onto his hands and knees, his expensive suit scraping across the stone as hundreds of people watch him struggle to rise. No one rushes to help him.

I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.

“You called my mother a whore. You used Lance’s addiction, her murder, and every home I survived as proof that I was born beneath you.” My voice carries across the silence without needing to rise. “Then you hit me twice because the brown foster kid finally said out loud what everyone around you has been too polite to admit.”

Lance gets one foot beneath himself.

I hold his stare.

The first siren reaches the terrace before Lance is fully upright. “You aren’t powerful. You were protected by everyone else’s manners.”

Red and blue light moves across the castle walls as two officers come through the garden entrance with members of the estate’s security team behind them. Harrison intercepts them before they reach the tables, already pointing toward Lance.

“That man assaulted one of my guests twice,” Harrison says, his fury stripping every trace of civility from his voice. “He made racist remarks about him and the other young men at this table, insulted his murdered mother, and attacked him when he responded. There are hundreds of witnesses and cameras covering the entire terrace. I’ll provide everything you need.”

Lance begins talking immediately. He tells them I threatened him, that he defended himself, and that Harrison has misunderstood what was nothing more than a private disagreement. He is still trying to control the fucking story while an entire terrace stands around the remains of what he did.

The officers separate us. One speaks to Lance while the other asks me to step back, but I cannot stand still. I pace away from them, turn, and pace back. My hands open and close at my sides as the adrenaline searches for somewhere to go. Every time I see Lance’s mouth moving, I hear him say puta. I hear what he said about my mother failing to survive. I hear him cutting into Cade and Briggs because hurting me wasn’t enough.

The officer pulls Lance’s arms behind his back. The cuffs close around his wrists, but watching him get arrested doesn’t touch the rage ripping through me. It doesn’t change what everyone heard or put my mother’s dignity back where he found it.

I turn toward Bliss. She is crying beside Charm, her hands shaking against her dress.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“Ryan, you didn’t—”

“Fuck!”

I drive my foot into the nearest chair. It crashes onto its side and skids across the stone, sending silverware and a champagne glass scattering beneath the next table. Several people jump. I drag both hands over my head and resume pacing because if I stop moving, I’m going to turn around and put Lance back on the ground in front of the fucking police.

“I couldn’t do this shit,” I say, looking at Cade. My voice is too loud, but I cannot bring it down. “I fucking tried, but I couldn’t do it. It’s too much. This entire fucking weekend is too much.”

Cade watches me without moving closer. He knows better than to tell me to calm down. “I know.”

“I was fine until he brought my mom into it.” I stab one finger toward Lance as the officers begin leading him away. “I could’ve taken everything else. The gutter, Lance, foster care, all of it. I’ve heard that shit my entire life. Then he brought my fucking mom into it.”

My breath tears through my chest. I pace away again before turning sharply toward Cade.

“Then he went after you. I was already beyond fucked, and he went after you like you’re too stupid to know why you’ve been my brother all these years.” My attention catches on Briggs. “Then he went after him. Fuck!”

Briggs stands exactly where I left him, staring toward the ground. Lyric’s words joined Lance’s inside his head. I can fucking see it happening.

“You look at me.”

He doesn’t.

I cross the distance between us. “Mírame, ese!”

His head comes up. The damage in his eyes hits me harder than Lance’s fist did.

I grab the back of his neck, rough enough to force him closer but not to hurt him. Briggs let me do it. He knows what this is. My fingers lock beneath his hair while I hold his eyes and refuse to let him hide from me.

“None of that shit was true. You fucking hear me?”