The Terms of Release by BA Tortuga Page A

coffee.
    This was worth the trouble it would cause, damn it.
    “You need anything else, honey?” Wilma stood there, coffeepot at the ready.
    “No, ma’am. I’m right as rain.”
    “Well, let me top you off so I can clean the pot.” She winked, and he realized maybe an hour had passed.
    “Good book.” The place had emptied out except for him and Bulldog, and he finished his cup and left a twenty on the table. “I’m going to head out, y’all. You’re good?”
    He didn’t worry about leaving Wilma with her man, but he would stay and walk them out, if they wanted.
    “We’re on our way in two shakes.” Bulldog waved him out, grinning hugely.
    He nodded, stuffed his book in his back pocket, and headed to his truck. He just made it outside the ring of light from the streetlights when he heard footsteps behind him and he spun, catching the blow on his shoulder and cheekbone instead of the back of his head.
    There were no taunts, no curses or name-calling. In fact, the attack was like prison, quiet and vicious and coming at him from all sides in seconds.
    He fought to keep his feet, to make it closer to the truck so he could keep his back to it. Sage knew better than to strike out. That only got your arms broken. No, he kept them tight to his body, his fists up in front of his face. He wanted to keep his teeth.
    “Hey! What the fuck!” Bulldog’s roar was welcome, and Sage weathered another flurry of blows, a boot catching his blown knee.
    A shot rang out, Sage flinching and waiting for the pain to tear through him. Instead, one of his attackers cried out and fell away, Bulldog wading in and whacking another with the barrel of a shotgun.
    Two more started running even as Wilma hollered, “Win’s on the way, baby!”
    Sage leaned against his truck, blinking through the blood stinging his eyes, fists still up. He couldn’t unclench them, couldn’t stop shaking.
    “They’re gone. They’re gone, man.” Bulldog didn’t touch him, which he was grateful for. He might break.
    “I didn’t hit anyone. I’m okay to drive.” He had to go before the cops showed.
    “No. No way. You need a doctor.”
    A siren wailed in the distance, and his gut clenched in instinctive denial. “I can’t. I can’t. I’ll go home.” He slipped into his truck, his knee screaming.
    “Sage, no.” Bulldog tried to stop him, but Sage pulled the truck door closed.
    “I’ll go home. Please. Please, I can’t. You know, huh?” Bulldog had to get it.
    “I’ll send Win once all the mopping up is done.” Bulldog slapped the hood of the truck. “Go on.”
    “Thanks, man.” He wiped his face off and started the engine.
    Home.
    He had to go home.
    Had to.
    Just in case they came after his folks.

C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
     
     
    W IN DROVE to Sage’s folks’ ranch, hands clenched on the wheel of his truck. He’d gone home, trading the cruiser for his own ride. He hated wasting the time, but Bulldog had insisted. No cop cars.
    The Reddings’ house was dark, but the lights were on at Sage’s trailer, so he went on up and knocked on the door. Penny hit the door like a freight train, barking violently.
    “Hey. Hey, back off, sweetie. Who is it?”
    “It’s Win. Adam. Can I come in?”
    “Are you coming to arrest me? Because I didn’t do anything.” Sage sounded like he’d done swallowed a frog.
    “No. No, Sage. I need to know you’re all right.” He shifted from foot to foot. “You’re not in trouble, and I won’t even ask if you want to press charges if you tell me not to.”
    “I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anyone’s faces.” The door was unlocked and opened. “Come on in. Do you want a cup of coffee?”
    “If you’ve got one, sure.” Win tried hard to keep his rage at bay when he stepped inside and got a good look at Sage. The bruises were vast and many, one eye swollen shut, and cheekbone ripped. The man held himself carefully, like he was afraid he’d shatter.
    “God, babe.” His hands clenched and