Page 413 of Steamy Ever After

Scott’s body bends beneath the force of Drake’s punches. He’s already lost, no longer fighting back.

“Drake…” Barely over a whisper, I can barely hear my own voice. I rub at the tenderness of my throat and try to ease some of the tightness.

As I swallow, one of Drake’s punches sends Scott flying over the back of the sofa. I rush Drake.

My hand goes to his arm, and I flinch as his body tenses.

“The cops are on the way.” I tug his arm.

I can only hope Drake understands what I’m trying to say because there’s no doubt in my mind, he’ll kill Scott.

All the tension in his body suddenly melts. He slings an arm over my shoulder and kisses the crown of my head.

“Are you okay?” His deep voice runs through me, fortifying and lending me strength.

“I’m okay.” I’m totally not okay. My entire body shakes with fine tremors as adrenaline rushes through me.

Drake’s voice suddenly hardens. “Get up off that sofa and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

I peek over the couch. Fear fills Scott’s expression. It vibrates in every molecule of his body. He collapses back on the cushions, heaving and out of breath.

His face is a bloodied mess. His lip’s split. One eye is already swollen closed. The other isn’t too far behind. Abrasions and bruising along his jaw tell a terrible story.

I grip Drake’s bicep with my shaky hand, then run my hand down his arm until our fingers clasp together.

“You saved me.” I lean my head against him as we both look down at Scott. “How did you know?”

“When I was leaving, I checked your Jeep. All four tires were slashed. I have a feeling this asshole’s been stalking you. No doubt he’s behind all of it.”

A shiver worms its way down my spine. If that’s the case, Scott’s been here for well over a week—watching me.

Stalking me.

Bright, blue and red lights flash through the window. Sirens sound a few seconds later. I release Drake and open the door. Two cop cars pull up outside. Down the street, a red and white ambulance follows.

The cops come to the door, take one look at me and draw their guns. The moment they see Drake, the guns go down.

“What’s going on?” The question isn’t directed to me, but rather to Drake.

BOSTON

“Hey, Mitch.” Drake knows the cop. “Just taking care of an unwanted guest.” Drake points at me. “He assaulted Abby and has been stalking her for well over a week. The bastard likes to hit women. Thinks it makes him a bigger man.” Drake turns his stony gaze to Scott, who cowers on my couch. “You’re a fucking putz. A tiny man. You’re going to get up close and personal with what happens to men who hit women in jail.”

Drake takes a step back while Mitch and his partner collect Scott. They haul him up and off my couch, spin him around, and unceremoniously cuff him.

I expect Scott to get in the last word, blaming me like he’s done every other time. Instead, he leaves my house, head bowed, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Tom Jenkins and Fred Cavanaugh, my EMTs, wait for the cops to leave with Scott in tow. They exchange words with Mitch, who gives a shake of his head. I guess Scott’s going to jail without his injuries tended.

“Doc…” Fred’s jaw drops when he sees me.

Tom follows suit. They rush toward me, pause to let Drake give them room, then fuss over me and my injuries. Their expressions worry me.

“Do I look that bad?”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Fred puts his medical bag down on the coffee table.

“No.”

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