Page 37 of Kitten Kisses

“Give me the thumb drive.”

“I would do the same thing for Jonah.” Kijani handed it over.

Kijani’s own mate had been assaulted, but there hadn’t been video evidence since it happened in his home. Slater had arrived at Jonah’s house with Kijani and had killed the guy who’d attacked him.

Slater couldn’t get that satisfaction.

They entered the kitchen where his laptop sat open on the table. Slater closed the curtain to block out the bright morning sun so there wouldn’t be a glare on the screen, then sat down.

Kijani stood behind him as he inserted the thumb drive, his fingers trembling as he clicked play.

The video showed his mate by the Slushy machine, completely unaware Mike had just walked in. Slater wanted to shout, to tell Alex to hide, to get away instead of unknowingly walking right into his path.

Anguish and rage warred within him as he watched the attack in sickening horror, watched the vicious blows Mike delivered to Alex’s defenseless body.

Every fiber of Slater’s being yearned to reach through the screen and rip Mike’s fucking heart out. He had never felt such intense hatred toward anyone more than he did this human piece of shit.

His tiger roared and clawed inside of him, desperate to break free and protect their mate. To hunt down Mike and tear him apart until there was nothing left but scraps of flesh and bone.

“That was one hell of a swing,” Kijani commented when they watched Alex knock Mike in the head with the windshield washer fluid. Slater didn’t give a shit who thought he was wrong, but he felt pure satisfaction when Mike’s head went through the glass.

When the footage ended, Slater could barely breathe as he brushed away the tears clinging to his eyes.

“I feel the same way.” Kijani squeezed his shoulder. “Hurt like fuck to watch that.”

Shoving from the table, Slater walked out his back door and stood in the middle of his yard, head tilted upward as he tried to calm the boiling rage inside of him. If he didn’t, he would go to the hospital and kill Mike.

For Alex, Slater would become a cold-blooded murderer. That had been the most brutal thing he’d ever had to watch. He’d had to see his sweet, caring, and klutzy mate get…

If Slater ever saw Mike again, he would end him.

* * * *

Tilting his head at every angle, Alex carefully examined his reflection in the mirror. He was both shocked and relieved to see his face wasn’t as badly damaged as he’d feared. Despite the heavy blows he’d received, there were surprisingly few visible bruises and cuts. The ones he did have were already starting to fade, giving them the appearance of being a week old instead of just six hours.

Even the split on his lip was rapidly healing and with minimal scarring. Not that Alex wanted to be reminded of what happened, but it was still strange.

He then turned his attention to his forearms, expecting to see more bruises from trying to defend himself, but was surprised to find they were also quickly fading.

This was not how bruises were supposed to heal. It was as if his body was trying to erase any evidence of the brutal attack.

The lingering wounds on Alex’s face and body were like battle scars, a testament to the intense pain and chaos that had erupted just hours before.

But when Alex met his own eyes in the mirror, the only thing he saw was Mike staring back at him with pure hate.

Alex turned and walked out of the bathroom. The house was quiet as he headed down the steps. The curtains were drawn tight in the living room, blocking out the sun. The hole was still in the wall, and there were two cups on the coffee table.

Slater must have company over.

When Alex entered the kitchen, his gaze landed on Slater standing in the backyard. His mate had his head tilted toward the sky, an expression of raw pain etched onto his features. Alex had never seen someone look so forlorn.

Slater blamed himself for what happened. It wasn’t his fault. It was no one’s except Mike’s. Clearly, the man had deeper issues based on the rage he’d unleashed on Alex.

And despite what Mike had said about losing his trust fund, Alex didn’t care. Maybe this would be a wake-up call for him to stop being such an asshole.

Slater’s uniform was rumpled, as if he had slept in it, but Alex doubted his mate had gotten any rest. He seemed too consumed with taking on someone else’s blame.

“Shit!” Alex was startled when he saw movement. “I’m starting to think Slater’s kitchen doubles as a jump-scare room.”

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