Free Lies Beneath the Surface (Buried Secrets #2) by Silla Webb Page A

upside down.
    I see a flicker in the corner of my eye and when I turn to see what it is, I see Luke rushin’ back inside. Damn pussy. You can run, but you can’t hide. I throw the truck in park and two step my ass across the lawn and up the steps to his house. I grab the handle of the screen door and rip it from the hinges in one swift attempt at openin’ it. I toss the mangled remnants of the screen door behind me, then step inside in search of Luke.
    He lunges at me just as I reach out to wrap one hand around his neck. I rear back with my right fist forcin’ all of my weight to crash against his face. When my knuckles meet the side of his jaw, his head slings to the side as he tries to stumble backward, dazed. But I have a firm grip against his throat and refuse to let go. I grip my index finger and thumb around his Adams apple, cuttin’ off his air, and continue to deliver bone crushin’ blows to his face. My fist slides against the blood streamin’ from the cut above his eye causin’ me to lose my grip on his throat. He gasps for air and growls as he rushes me, knockin’ me on top of the coffee table that don’t hold our weight. When the wobbly legs of the broken down table gives way, Luke presses his knee into my abdomen, bringin’ his elbow into the side of my cheek.
    Minutes pass as our brawl escalates, and the house sounds like it’ s fallin’ down around us. The TV screen has been busted, the coffee table lies crumpled in splinters against the floor under my back, pictures have fallen from the walls and whatnots are busted about the room. When I finally fight to get to my feet, Luke struggles with my strength as I shove him through the living room wall, bringin’ my fist into his stomach with a fierce sucker punch. As I bring my fist back, to deliver another blow, I feel cool steel against my neck and crisp click-clack echoin’ in my ear. I still my movements, bringin’ my hands up in the air to surrender. I take a step back, watchin’ Luke grip his waist as he doubles over in pain.
    “Son, don’t know what y’alls brawlin’ over, but I think he’s had enough. So unless you want this bullet to come at ya fast, you better scoot your big ass on out my house.” The old man slurs.
    I back out the door, keepin’ my eyes trained on Luke’s drunk old man. “You ain’t seen the last of me Asht on, you can count on it.” I say with a shaken breath before I step out the door.
    I make my way to my truck and assess the damage of Luke’s bike and truck. The Harley, well what was once a Harley is embedded into the ground. There ain’t too much damage to the truck, aside from dents and scratches down the back fender and tailgate. I shake my head at the destruction I’ve caused, then laugh because it was worth it all.
    I start home but all of the events of the night have crawled under my skin, and I just can’t control the tremors that wrack my body. Carly Jo has cut me so bad, I just want to forget it all; become numb to the pain. I make a quick pit stop, then make my way home to put this night behind me.

    I pull a shot glass from the cabinet, fillin’ it to the rim with my favorite warm, amber liquid. I pull it to my lips, inhalin’ the strong scent with a tremblin’ hand. I’m torn between copin’ with the heartache, consumin’ this poison, or dealin’ with it sober. Honest to God, I just ain’t strong enough to cope with any of this shit bein’ sober. I pull in a deep breath, then toss the Jack back, wincin’ as the burn spreads throughout my throat. I set the shot glass down then brace myself against the edge of the counter top.
    I’m petrified of the road that lies ahead. One small mistake on my part has my world tilted on its axis, spinnin’ at a mach speed. I know if I’d just told her about Eric’s addiction, I could have possibly prevented the accident. She wouldn’t have turned her back on me when I needed her the most. She wouldn’t have needed Luke that night had I just