Page 49 of Wicked Heiress

Rhys shot up from the bed, tied off the condom, and threw it into the trash can. “She’s wet, tight, and ready for you, Marshall. I got her all warmed up.” He patted me on the back. “I know how much you like my sloppy seconds. Have fun.”

It was all a game.

Of course, it was.

He even had me fooled for a little while. Rhys was so good at hiding his true nature. And as long as he wasn’t hurting Grace, I stopped thinking about the words he said to me on the day he moved into my house.

A gentleman never kisses and tells.

He stood before me naked, his dick at half-mast and smirking as if he’d won. “Wait until I tell Fitzy about how you violated his precious granddaughter. All the dirty things she let us do to her.” He shrugged. “You might as well fuck her again, for old time’s sake.”

With that, I slammed my fist into his jaw, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward, but I hit him again before he could right himself. One punch after the other, I swung so hard my knuckles burned.

Rhys took a swing, and I ducked, his fist landing on my bicep. He tried to hit me with a right hook, which I evaded. “You’re jealous. Get over yourself, Marshall.”

“No, I’m not.” My fist crashed into his cheek. “You fucked her out of spite.”

He let out maniacal laughter that set me over the edge. Rhys Vanderbilt was the villain in Grace’s story, not the hero. At least he showed his true colors, letting her see the real Rhys. The asshole I had grown up with at York Military Academy.

So I pounded my fists into his face, blood spilling from his mouth, staining his bare chest.

“Cole,” Grace shouted, her voice a whimper. “Stop it! You’re going to kill him.”

I hope so.

Ignoring her screams, I punched Rhys until he couldn’t take anymore and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Clutching his bloody face, he lay on his side and groaned. His pretty face would be black and blue by morning.

Grace sobbed. “What did you do?”

I violated my promise to treat other Knights as if they were my brothers. To put aside all differences and uphold the Charter of The Devil’s Knights.

Fuck.

If Rhys reported this incident, I would face an inquiry from the higher-ups. But then Rhys would have to explain what he did to Fitzy, so it was a win-win.

We would both pay the price. At least it was worth it.

“Pack your bags.” I stood over Rhys, wiping his blood down the side of my shorts. “I want you out of her life.”

And mine.

I couldn’t think straight.

Her naked body made it harder for me to focus. I did a shit job at protecting her because the one person she needed protection from was lying on the floor, naked and bloody.

I failed her.

“You better be gone by the time I wake up,” I told Rhys.

Instead of one of his usual comebacks or insults, he nodded in defeat, wiping the blood from his lip.

I lifted Grace off the bed, cradled in the bedsheet that dragged across the floor as I left the room and headed into hers. “I warned you about Rhys. I tried to protect you because I know what he’s like.”

Tears stained her beautiful face, sliding down her cheeks. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than Rhys already had. So I lowered her onto the mattress and sat beside her.

“You didn’t deserve this, Grace. I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t crossed the line with you. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. It’s mine.” Grace cried harder. “Why would Rhys do this to me? I thought he liked me. He acted like I mean nothing to him.”

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