Page 81 of Bad Little Bride

I stare at the blond-headed bitch, biting down on my molars until the familiar taste of copper coats my mouth. I let that shit run down my throat and quicken my steps.

He’s three feet away where I’m five.

He’s going to touch her.

He’s going to touch her, and I will fucking kill him, cut him at the wrist and beat him with his own hands before shoving them down his throat and watching him gag on his own middle finger.

“Careful,” Mino attempts to warn, to remind me where we are—on neutral ground in another man’s club – but it’s too late.

His skin. It met hers.

Music blasts around us, but all I hear is the beat of my pulse, egging me on, growing louder and louder like the hype of a crowd ready for the big fucking finale.

“Wait, Enzo, don’t!” someone shouts.

I take the wineglass from her hand, break it against his temple, and jab the jagged stem right into his neck, all before the bitch can blink.

Wide eyes find mine, his hand closing over my wrist, and I smile down at him, driving him backward until he’s on his ass with me leaning over him.

People scream and shout, some laugh, and I see the wave of security barreling this way.

I don’t move, I give him nothing but me to look at as I drive the glass in deeper.

“You really think you deserve her? Look at you, on your fucking knees, bleeding like a bitch.” I get in his face, seething and seeing red, and it has nothing to do with the blood running down my forearm. “I should kill you right here for touching what belongs to me. All I’d have to do is move two centimeters to the left and you’d be a bag of fucking bones before anyone could even think to help you.”

Anger finally slips over his eyes, but he can’t hide the fear in his tone. “Fuck you.”

“I’d rather fuck my fiancée.”

“Okay, let’s take a step back.” Mino slips closer, and I begin to remove my hand from the glass so he can hold it still.

Philip’s nostrils flare, but he’s starting to shake. “You’re a prick.”

“Stop talking before you make this worse,” Mino warns, but Philip ignores him.

“She should have never found her way to you,” he fumes, chest heaving.

My lips curve into a slow, wide smile. “Yet she’s still mine.”

His eyes narrow and I wait for a reason, but I don’t have to wait long. The punk is weak-minded, and the words fall from his trembling fucking lips with venom. “For now.”

“Ah fuck.”

“Oh shit.”

“Dumbass.”

I don’t know who says what, but it’s all spoken at the same time, right along with the warning shout from across the room.

I ignore them all, yanking the stem from Philip’s neck and watching as he panics, pressing his palm to the wound as it begins to gush five times faster.

One of the first things you learn in this world is, never remove the weapon from the wound…unless it’s your weapon and the wound is one you inflicted.

Philip struggles to his feet, and security rushes in, but they aren’t here for me, no, they wouldn’t dare. They take the bleeding bastard by the arms, swiftly dragging him down the dark hall.

The moment he’s out of eyesight, I blink, and it’s like a switch is flicked, all the surrounding sounds come back at once. The music still blasts from the speakers, the partygoers downstairscompletely unaware and continuing like nothing happened while the VIP lounge stares this way with varying expressions.

Mino glares from me to the hall. “He might bleed out.”

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