Groaning, Alyssia buries her head in my shoulder. “As soon as I have the energy, I’m going to kill you.”
CHAPTER 50
Travis
What the fuck am I doing here?
Pissed and only two days after Alyssia gave birth to our son, I walk into the headquarters of Amato Racing. They’re both home, resting, surrounded by family, but I should be with them.
Instead, I have to deal with bullshit.
“We didn’t have to do it this way,” Drake tells me from my left side.
I don’t say anything as I eye the reporters and cameras setting up on the ground level of the building’s atrium.
“Yes, I do.” I need to make this very public and very clear for all to know.
“Travis?”
The voice instantly has red shading my vision.
Skyland Grant unwisely approaches me, wearing an innocent expression, or maybe he’s attempting concern.
“Shit, I’ve been a mess for two days after learning what my agent did to your?—”
“Cousin,” I say through clenched teeth.
His eyebrows spike and he turns his head to the side slightly before looking back at me.
“Yes, we’re cousins … distant cousins,” he hastily adds. “But we mainly had a business relationship.”
He tells me this as if my family’s security team hasn’t worked with local authorities over the course of the past forty-eight hours to uncover the ways Gus and Skyland tried to set me up for blackmail, and when that didn’t work, started putting out rumors and lies to make the public doubt my credibility as a competitor.
Gus did all of this because of his gambling addiction. Which he paid for with his life. I’m still proud of Alyssia for defending herself, though I wish like hell she’d never been put in that position in the first place.
Skyland, however, is a different story. He wanted my spot at Amato. Apparently, the little shit was tired of playing the number two role and thought he deserved more. Obviously, his plan to get me out of the way backfired.
“I had no idea he was in as deep with his betting and gambling to do such a horrible—Ahh!” he yells when my first punch cracks his nose.
Blood seeps through his fingers as he presses a hand over it. Despite the gasps from other members of my team, I punch Skyland again.
The second blow nearly sends him to the floor, but I hold him up. As I angle my right hand for a third punch, a group of officers surround us, separating me from my former teammate.
He stumbles backward once I finally release him, again almost ending up on the floor, but the officer now cuffing his hands behind his back holds him up.
Skyland tries to blabber something through the blood dripping into his mouth. I reach for him again, hauling him close by the scruff of his shirt.
“You’re going to have a real good time in prison, motherfucker,” I say loud enough so that only he can hear.
When I push him away from me and spin around, I find my team principal and a few other Amato Racing officials looking at me in half astonishment, half fear.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
The reporters, on the other side of the atrium, weren’t a witness to what just transpired, which I suppose is a good thing for Amato. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t mind having my picture of punching the fuck out of Skyland splashed across the sports news.
It would send a clear message that my family is, and will forever be, off limits to fuck with.
That’s what my words are for, I suppose.
