Page 60 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

If he thought that was going to ease the situation, he was wrong. Tate’s eyes bulge, and before I know what’s happening, he lunges toward Owen. His fist connects with Owen’s jaw, and Owen releases my hand, pushing me to the side. I watch on in horror as Tate delivers blow after blow to my husband’s stomach, but he continues to hold his hands up, allowing him to pummel him.

“Oh, shit!” Mase and Shaw come rushing into the foyer, followed by Reed, who leans against the wall with not a care in the world. I want to scream at him to help, but Mase wastes no time in dragging a flailing Tate off Owen, who stands unperturbed by my brother’s outburst.

“You son of a bitch! You goddamn son of a bitch, Owen!” Spittle flies from his mouth, and I wrap my arms around myself, hating this, hating all of it.

Mase speaks lowly in Tate’s ear, and his shoulders seem to ease, so Mase loosens his hold, but no sooner does he do that does Tate fly through the air, sending Owen crashing into the side table.

The sound of them hitting the marble floor and my mom’s vase shattering sends a tsunami of memories through my head, and suddenly, my chest feels like it’s being squeezed, my airways become restricted, and I can’t breathe. Oh, sweet Jesus, I can’t breathe. My vision becomes blurry as panic takes hold of me.

I close my eyes, trying to regain some form of control over my own body, to no avail.

Carlos’s hand darts out and hits my face. The hateful glare in his eyes is terrifying. My head hits the floor with a crack, and all I feel is the terror of knowing our son is in the same room.

“He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill us,” I chant, feeling trapped inside my head.

Wetness coats my face, but I’m too detached to register what that is. “Please. Someone. Please.” My body shakes uncontrollably as I beg for someone to rescue us.

“I want to go home,” I murmur. “I want to go home.”

OWEN

Tate’s fist slams into my gut, and I accept it. I accept each of his hits, knowing I deserve it, each and every one of them.

The fucker catches me off guard, and I lose my balance while attempting to save Steph’s vase, but fail.

“Fuck,” I grunt when he lands one above my eye, and I have to grind my jaw to stop from retaliating.

“He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill us.” Her soft, terrified voice filters through my senses, and like that, a switch has been flipped as my stomach rolls at her broken tone.

I flip Tate onto his back and jump to my feet and stride toward Laya.

My poor girl is huddled into a corner of the room, her legs drawn up to her chest, and her arms banded tightly around her.

“Please. Someone. Please.”

Jesus, my heart cracks right then, knowing she’s having a panic attack brought on by the fight, and once again, I hate myself for it. I knew there was a possibility of Tate reacting this way, and I never considered removing her from the situation, thinking going in as a united front was the best way of winning him over. Of course, I was fucking wrong. I swipe the blooddripping from my eye away and kneel in front of her, ignoring the sharp bellows from Tate telling me to stay away from her—my fucking wife.

“I’m here, baby.” I stroke her cheek, hating how despondent she is. The way her eyes are squeezed closed, and her body riddled with tension. “Open your eyes, baby.”

“I want to go home.” I rest my palm on her cheek. “I want to go home.”

“You are home, Laya. I’m your home. Open your eyes for me, baby girl.”

Her eyes snap open, and my heart fills with warmth. I could swim in the depths of the love she holds there. “That’s it, I got you.” I scoop her into my arms and cradle her against me, reveling in the way her arms band around my neck as her protector.

“I love you, Laya,” I whisper as I place a tender kiss on her neck, and she shudders.

“Baby. Fucking. Girl?” I spin to face Tate. His face is red, every vein on his neck protrudes, and his fists clench beside him, making me want to roll my eyes at how he’s overreacting.

Shaw steps forward, putting himself between us, and I want to high-five my friend for doing that when the atmosphere is so volatile. “Tate. Now’s not the time,” he grits out, clearly pissed at him too.

Tate scoffs like a petulant child.

“What the hell is going on here?” Ava storms through the foyer and heads straight toward Tate, her eyes darting from my distressed girl in my arms to her husband. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Her mouth falls open. “Seriously, Tate?”

In a split second, my friend’s balls shrivel as his body slackens and his fists uncurl. “That’s your sister right there!” She points. “And you’re acting like a thug, terrifying her in the process.”

“I didn’t mean—”

---