Page 83 of Reluctantly You

“And who are you?” the man asks, his lip curled up in a sneer.

“No one. Now fuck off.”

He smirks at me, his teeth far too white. “Rory and I have business to discuss.”

“No. You don’t,” I reply, and when he tries to reach out and take Rory from me, my arms tighten around him. I don’t even like the man’s eyes on him, they make my skin crawl, so I move Rory behind me, sheltering him from his leering gaze. Something sinister moves through his lifeless gray eyes and I feel that brimstone turn to smoke.

“Please,” Rory whispers, his voice cracking and broken. I can infer so much from that one word.

I’m sick of this man before me, sick of him lingering, waiting, as if I’d ever give Rory up to him. I step forward, my hands moving to the jacket of his expensive suit. I lift him up, his toespractically dangling above the floor as I walk him backward, out of sight of the other guests. So I can pummel him in peace.

“What—let go of me,” he hisses but his command falls on deaf ears. I just carry him further back, his body light in my arms. Or perhaps that’s the adrenaline. I push him against an empty wall in a quiet corner and lift him even higher. My muscles ache, screaming at me. But for the first time in ages, I can feel. I fucking burn.

“I don’t know what you did to him, but don’t you ever touch him again.”

The man is afraid. I can smell it on him, but his lips turn up at the corners, a wobbly, ugly thing. “Are you his boyfriend?”

“You stay away from him.”

When he just laughs, dismissing me, I drop him and my hand goes around his throat, tightening slightly with each intake of breath.

“Do you know who I am?” he hisses, my fingers tightening on his neck.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are.”

“I’ll ruin you.”

“I have nothing,” I say and then lean toward him, cutting off his air entirely. His fingers claw at my hands, the seriousness of my words settling in him. But, still, I don’t let up. “You can’t take away what I don’t have.”

His eyes widen as I let go before I snap my arm back and land a blow across his cheek. His glasses are knocked sideways and his lip splits. Blood trickles from his mouth and his tongue peeks out, lapping it up.

I want to punch him again, want to see his nose crack, but before I can, Gideon moves up beside me, his arms moving around my waist, pulling me into him.

“We’re done here. Let’s go.”

I scoff, narrowing my gaze at the creep before me.

“Don’t ever look his way again,” I warn as Gideon moves me out of the building, security guards converging on us as we exit.

“Don’t worry, they’re just happy we’re leaving,” he explains as he comes to a stop beside Rory who looks pale, like he’s about to crumble into a thousand pieces. Gideon shakes his head and then pulls Rory into his side.

“Go home, Mitch,” he bites out. I pause. Wait, is he angry with me? He looks back over his shoulder and gives me a small, appreciative nod. Relief fills me. It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t give a fuck what Gideon thinks…but for some reason, I do.

He turns and carefully leads Rory away, leaving me standing there in the warm summer night air, trying to pull myself together. My knuckles throb, but what’s worse is it feels unfinished.

I want to go back in there and rip that man apart.

He hurt Rory. He took something from him and is unrepentant. This must be who Gideon was talking about at the club that night. I stare intently through the glass doors into the showroom, watching as that man wipes away the blood from his split lip with a handkerchief. Men like that don’t care that they stole something that wasn’t theirs. They never care who they hurt.

Shit, was I like that? Will I end up like him one day if I don’t fix myself?

My hand slides across my jaw, and I stare out into the night sky.

God, give me hope. I can’t be that evil.

I can’t be like that.

I can’t.

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