The Sweetest Victory - Intertwined Series

Chapter Thirty-Six | You are my life's sweetest victory

The next morning, after a fitful night, Gage woke with a serious case of ball-busting mad. When a man was in a mood, nothing helped beat out the tension then hard, manual labour. And thankfully, the Sphinx still offered plenty. Hauling furniture, cutting sheeting, installing cabinetry, and laying flooring in the ballroom, catering kitchens and conference suites was hot, sweaty, backbreaking work. The sort of work he'd hired help to sweat through, but today Gage was in the thick of it with them. Grumbling, muttering and cursing every, wretched minute.

But still there was a violent edged to his temper that refused to be shed, and he vowed the next sorry bastard to cross his path was going to feel the teeth of that temper snapping around his throat.

Whistling, Roarke rounded the corner. "Hey, there you are. Matthias and I need you."

Gage whirled on his brother with a curled lip and dagger-eyes, drilling a finger into Roarke's chest with all the vehemence of a nail gun punching into wood. "Fuck off. Leave me alone."

Roarke swiped his hand and that pointed finger aside. "Listen, Sunshine, if something's up your butt, grit your teeth and clench for another twelve inches because I've got—"

"I don't give a single happy fuck." Gage bared his teeth, all feral and fang. "I said leave me alone. Go bust some low-level contractor's ass. I don't take orders from you."

"And I don't take shit from you." His brother shot back, blue eyes flashing with a brilliant temper Gage knew could be quick and ugly thing. Good, he thought, I could go a few rounds. Bring it.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." Roarke stood his ground, crossed his arms. "You can't lie for dick, so quit ramming your fist down my throat and tell me what the hell is up your ass?"

What's up my ass? Gage swung first, but his foul mood affected his aim so his fist grazed more than connected. And Roarke, always quick on his feet, countered with a sharp left that caught him dead on and made his eyes spin. Staggering back a step, Gage braced the wall, head between his hands and bottom lip bleeding.

"You got that out of your system?" Roarke demanded, left fist ready to go for round two. Then it lowered when he saw his brother's eyes, although hostile, were clear and lost the worst of their furious edge. And he might have been sorely tempted in that moment to walk away and leave Gage to brood off the rest of it if Roarke hadn't peeled back the festering layers of his brother's dark mood to see the wounded hurt underneath.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

Exhaling heavily, Gage shoved a hand through his hair, gave the ends a tug. "Things are all twisted up into a major shit storm, bro. Fuck it, let's just take care of business."

Roarke answered that by shutting the door then sat at the foot of the bed and jabbed his finger towards the chair facing it. "You and I haven't swung at each other since college. Sit and spit it out. The rest can wait."

"It's not my place to get into it," he muttered, kicking the bed frame with his scuffed steel-toe-boot.

"Either you talk, or I'll knock you down and beat it out of you."

Rolling his eyes upward, Gage expelled a second frustrated breath. "I know you're apprised of Victory and her former financial difficulties." Since he hadn't formed the statement as a question, Roarke stayed quiet, watchful blue eyes patient but demanding.

Agitated, and because he felt a bit like a traitor for what he was about to do, Gage kicked at the bedframe again before he let the whole sordid mess spew from him like rancid pus from a lanced boil.