Neeta threw out a hand and grabbed the railing, successfully stopping Wood from retreating.

“You know me,” she snapped.

“I’ve never met you,” I pointed out the obvious.

“You live in Carnal, you know me,” she repeated. “You also know you’re tryin’ to take what’s mine.”

“He isn’t yours,” I stated calmly.

“He’s mine,” she shot back and threw out an arm indicating the house. “This house is mine.” She jabbed a finger at me. “That shirt is mine.” She strained against Wood’s hold and her eyes got squinty. “His c**k is mine. He’s… fuckin’… mine.”

I looked to Wood and told him, “She needs medication.”

“Fuck you!” she shrieked, let go of the railing and struggled against Wood’s grip.

“You can’t really believe you can behave like this and think you’re going to scare me away. I know about you and I also know Tate wants not one thing to do with you,” I declared.

She stopped struggling and looked me straight in the eye.

“Yeah?” she asked. “He tell you that?”

“Yes, he did,” I answered.

“That’s what he says, bitch, then I whisper in his ear and open my legs and he likes the smell, the taste, and he’s right back in there.”

“Maybe so,” I replied. “But that was before me and he told me I was the best he ever had. He also told me, after two decades of you leaving nothing but bitter in his mouth, I was a sweet the like he never tasted.”

I was making some of that up but I thought the situation merited it.

At my words, she quieted in her brother’s arms. I watched her stare at me for a second then, when she had no response, I kept going.

“He admitted you were under his skin. He admitted he loved you. But he told me I’m under his skin now, he’s worked you out. Or, the way it sounds, you treated him so poorly you worked your own way out.” I shook my head and said quietly, “Stupid, honey, you should have done everything to stay where you were. I’m there now and, you have to know, it’s a good place to be.”

“Shut your f**kin’ mouth,” she whispered, the words shaking with fury.

I ignored her.

“So, this house isn’t mine and this shirt isn’t mine, they’re Tate’s, but he’s mine.”

“Shut your f**kin’ mouth,” she screeched and started struggling against Wood’s hold again but we all heard the roar of the pipes and saw the headlight shine on the house.

I turned and watched Tate ride up the drive and park beside the convertible. There were lots of outside lights shining on the deck, the drive, the area around the garage and he was illuminated fully but he moved so quickly I didn’t see him swing off the bike and walk to the deck. It was just that he was suddenly there.

Wood and Neeta had separated but Wood had only moved a few feet away from her. They were facing each other but both of their heads were turned to Tate.

Tate stood there and he wasn’t that close to me but I still felt that scary energy sparking as his angry eyes took in the scene.

“Familiar,” I heard him mutter, “you two standin’ between me and somethin’ I want.”

I felt a chill enter my bloodstream.

“Send her away,” Neeta demanded in a way that it sounded like all she had to do was make the demand and it would be hers.

Tate shook his head. “I’ll ask once. Get in your car and go. You don’t, Neeta, you can stand out here shoutin’ the house down for a month and I won’t hear you. You won’t exist. Fuck, woman, you already don’t.”

“I exist,” she spat.

“Nope,” Tate replied.

“Right,” she drawled, leaning back and crossing her arms on her chest. “Baby, I roll my tongue around the tip of your cock, you’ll remember I exist.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Tate returned. “Though, since, I’ve had a woman who knows how to use her mouth and doesn’t forget to check her f**kin’ teeth.”

Quick as a flash, she leaned forward and planted her hands on her hips.

“You love my teeth!” she hurled at him.

“Told you once, told you a million times, Neet, no man likes a woman’s teeth scrapin’ his dick. Christ, agony, somethin’ you’re good at dishin’ out in a variety of ways.”

“You never complained,” she retorted.

“I did, woman, you just never listened,” Tate fired back. “Gotta say, never knew what it’d be like to tag a piece I didn’t have to give instruction. And, damn babe, trust me, it’s f**kin’… sweet.”

She stopped speaking and I bit my lip, wondering how I felt about being referred to as “a piece” that Tate had “tagged” considering I was guessing he meant me.

Neeta changed tactics and when she did, the deck rocked under my feet.

“You f**k with me, you never see Jonas again.”

She barely got out the word “again” when Tate took four swift, long, angry strides, all of them right at her.

Her face visibly paling, she retreated on an angle at the last minute but Tate kept bearing down on her until he had her pinned against the railing, his body in her space, the line of it outright hostile. She stared up at him, mouth wide, eyes huge, body braced, she was staggered.

I watched this frozen with morbid fascination.

She’d f**ked up his life but he’d never done that before.

Never.

He bent his neck so his face was in hers.

“Warning,” he growled. “You use my boy against me, Neeta, I swear to God, you’ll regret it.”

His boy?

I felt the blood drain from my own face and my head got light.

“And,” Tate went on, “I see you within hearing distance of Laurie, I’ll f**k with your life so much you’ll wish you lived on the goddamned moon.”

Neeta recovered and her back went straight.

“I got the papers, Tate, and you can tell your lawyers to go f**k themselves. After this shit, Jonas no longer exists for you.”

“He’s here next weekend or I swear to Christ –”

“You’re a joke!” she cut him off. “Do you think that any judge is gonna give custody of a ten year old kid to a bounty hunter who’s home two days a month?”

Oh my God.

Tate had a son. Tate and Neeta shared a child. And Tate was going for custody of his son.