Page 27 of Fool's Gold

Watching Greg chase Empire through the set is pure torture.

Just like rebuking her efforts last night had been torture. I grind my teeth, surely loosening one of my crowns on the back molars, but I can’t give a shit. I can’t take my eyes off them. I remember every minute of chasing Empire through her parents’ house and what happened when I caught her.

Her tears last night—

She’d needed me. And what had I done? Treated her like a fucking kid who needed to sit in time-out after a tantrum. Not because of her but because I hadn’t trusted myself to stop, and I refuse to be the kind of man who takes advantage of her vulnerability.

Maybe a spanking over my knee would have been better than a shower.

Her squeal is ear piercing, and I focus back on the actors, scrutinizing their every move. Mr. Patterson has caught Alicia. I fucking hate every second of seeing another man touch her. Every second of watching them work through the scene with the coordinator standing by, making sure every step they take is precise and respectful.

Until Empire forgets her line and fudges things.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts out, straightening off Greg’s lap and pushing her hair behind her ear—distinctly uncomfortable and avoiding looking at me.

I barely move when Belinda calls cut and runs the scene from the beginning. She’s trapped, I know, in a personal nightmare.

“There’s nowhere you can go to escape me, Alicia. You’re mine now. You’re mine in every possible way. I own you.” Greg’s voice as Patterson is a strong vibrating bass with all the ego of an older wealthy man who knows he always gets what he wants.

“I belong to myself,” Empire insists as Alicia. Tremulous, tender, a little turned on, and a little scared.

“You belong to me,” Greg repeats. “You can run if you like. It will only make it so much sweeter when I catch you.”

Goddamn him. Things were better when I ran the lines with her. Things were smoother, happier, hotter—

I swallow my groan and scrub my hand over my goatee.

“What will you do to me?” Empire continues.

“You’ve stirred my passion, and you think you’ve paid the price. You’re nowhere near close to paying it, sweetheart. One way or another, I’m going to catch you.” Greg glides his hand along Empire’s thigh, pausing on her ass and squeezing. “You might not like what happens when I do.”

“You’ll… rape me?”

“It’s not rape if you beg me for it,” Greg whispers. “Trust me when I tell you, I know exactly what to do to your body to have you begging for it. You love it when I touch you. You love what my money does for you. Isn’t that what you were really after?”

He pauses, waiting for her to answer, and his fingers slip between her legs.

Red blankets my vision.

He’s not supposed to fucking touch her there. This is the scene where he goes hunting, their cat-and-mouse game almost at an end, their roles reversed. They haven’t reached the pinnacle yet. So what the fuck is he doing?

“Mr. Patterson, this is crazy.”

Empire glances at me.

Greg is too handsy, too rough, using his knuckles to nudge against her mound over her clothing. When Empire gulps, the sound entirely real, I erupt into action.

Losing my shit is a bad idea. Walking on set is a bad idea.

Pummeling Greg within an inch of his life is a bad goddamn idea.

He should have thought about it before he touched her this way.

“It’s not in the script, you asshole.” The voice doesn’t belong to me, and every punch is mechanical, one right after the other as I pummel him. My knuckles gouge into his cheeks, his jaw, his eyes.

The world around us blurs. There’s only Greg and this terrifying fury, the need to destroy everything he is and reduce him to nothing. He touched her. After I spoke to him. After I warned him to be professional, this fucking guy took advantage of the situation.

Someone calls my name.

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