Page 56 of Demons

Tyron’s hand flexed as if he had jerked. I understood it. You didn’t have to know Thatcher to be struck by the fear that came with his threat. There was a formidable sound to his voice. One that you knew you should run from.

“Let go,” I whispered, not wanting him to do anything to set Thatcher off.

“Do you know him?” Tyron asked.

I nodded. “I ride for his ranch.”

Tyron’s hand dropped away from me. I’d told him very little about who I raced for, just that I was a jockey. I didn’t give him details on the Shephards, not even their name. If he’d searched me online or done any research at all, he’d have found that I had raced for them recently.

“You can go.” Thatcher’s tone, although he spoke with a smooth drawl, remained menacing.

“I’m here until she tells me to leave,” Tyron replied, sounding angry.

I touched his arm to stop him. He needed to leave. I would deal with Thatcher.

“Don’t touch him, Capri.” Thatcher’s voice had taken a new deadly edge that had me snatching my hand away and turning back to Thatcher.

The cigarette was back between his teeth.

“What do you need?” I asked, wishing he’d leave me alone.

He gave a small lift of his chin. “Him to go.”

I sighed in frustration. I was going to have sex tonight, finally. Yet here was Thatcher, stopping me. How ironic.

“Our date isn’t over. If this is about work, then can you just call me tomorrow? I’m going to be there at seven anyway to exercise the horses.”

Even through the shadows covering them, I could feel his eyes locked on me. They felt like warm coils being wrapped around my body. Damn him for that. I didn’t want to feel that. Not from him.

“The date is over,” Thatcher replied, then curled his finger at me to come to him.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell and refuse, but I also knew Tyron could make him angry, and I didn’t want Tyron to be hurt.

Turning back to Tyron, I gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. He’s … you just need to leave. He wants to talk about business, and, well, you don’t know him. It’s best you leave.”

Tyron glared over my shoulder in Thatcher’s direction. “I’m not leaving you here with him. I don’t care who he is.”

Crap. He was gonna cause a problem.

“Please just go. I’m completely safe. I swear.”

Tyron shook his head, then tensed up, stepping around me. I started to grab his arm again when he was lifted off the ground. I covered my mouth before letting out a scream. Thatcher was holding him up by his neck. His feet weren’t even touching the ground as he walked him back toward the car.

“Thatcher!” I cried out, rushing after him and pulling on his arm, which did nothing. Was the man made of steel?! “Stop it!”

He shoved Tyron against the vehicle and dropped him, then towered over him as he took the cigarette from his mouth. I reached up for his arm, suddenly afraid the lit end was about to become a weapon. Thatcher tilted his head and stared down at Tyron. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I did see Tyron’s terror. I had to stop this. Why hadn’t he just left?

“Thatcher, please. Come with me,” I pleaded.

He turned his head slowly, and his dark eyes met mine. “I won’t kill him.”

Kill him? God! I would hope not. I should call King. Sebastian. Someone who could come help me.

He grabbed the front of Tyron’s shirt and shook him once, then let him go. “Get in your car. Drive away. Don’t call the police. That would be your last mistake.”

Tyron gulped. “I’m not going to let you hurt her.”

A deep, sadistic-sounding chuckle came from Thatcher’s chest. “I keep her safe. Protect her. Soothe her. I don’t hurt her.”

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