Page 116 of Worth Every Risk

I push him against the wall and his hands flap, his face a caricature of alarm. “Apologise to her, Charlton. Or you’ll lose your teeth.” My voice is hard and raw; unfamiliar.

My fingers are crushing the man’s windpipe. He’s turning red, eyes popping, little red veins spreading over the whites, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s satisfying to see the prick frightened like this.

“Matthew!” Gemma’s sharp cry has me digging my fingers tighter into his throat. “Get off him. Let go.”

I’m lost to the fucking rage, the frustration, the idea that this man’s kids have hurt mine.He deserves it.

“Matt.” Aries’s voice is calm, her small hand daring to rest on my forearm. I don't know how or when she got so close to me. I glance down at her tiny fingers against my sleeve, then up to my own large ones, still wrapped around Mark’s throat. “That’s enough.”

Her presence soothes me like nothing else in the world could. My body softens and I step back, flexing my fingers and wiping my palm on my trousers.

Mark lurches forward, spluttering, a hand to his neck.

The twins close in on either side of their father, propping him up. I know my anger should be directed at them too, but they’re teenagers. Barely older than Charlie, although they look like men.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gemma squeaks. “You lunatic.”

“He was being disrespectful.” I glare at Mark, who’s still coughing, hand still resting on his throat. Between his fingers, the skin is red, and I feel a disturbing flush of satisfaction at the sight. “Did you know your sons have been attacking Charlie at school? Beating him up? Bullying him?” I snarl at Mark.

He coughs, bent over, and looks up at me. “What are you talking about?”

“He came home at the end of term covered in bruises. They did it.” I nod at the twins.

Charlie’s probably furious that I’m raising all this so publicly, but I don’t look at him to check. I should, I know I should. I ought to have consulted him before I started spouting off, but it’s too fucking late now.

“Dad—” he begins.

“Cut the cake,” I say, jerking my chin at the cake.

“What? Matthew, no. Don’t be crazy about this,” Gemma says. “The cake is fine. Don’t cut it yet. The party— ”

“Cut the fucking cake,” I roar, and somehow Alec is scuttling forward with a cake knife, holding it out but he doesn’t know who to give it to and I don’t know either.

“Matt, please,” Aries hisses, tugging on my arm. “Let’s talk about this.”

Somehow the cake knife is in Charlie’s hand and he’s stepping up to cut the world’s ugliest cake. He glances at me and I nod.Cut the damn thing.

“He’s lost his fucking mind,” one of the twins mutters, and I know he’s speaking about me, but I’m too enraged to even bother acknowledging it.

Charlie angles the cake knife over the cake; the blade trembles in his shaking grip.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Gemma. “You’re sure you trust those two little cunts?”

Gemma draws in a quick, fast breath. Then she nods.

Charlie grimaces, but he doesn't look at me again. He keeps his gaze on the cake. My heart is racing and my mind conjures memories of TV shows where bomb disposal units attempt to dismantle explosives, because that’s exactly what this feels like. We’re all waiting for disaster.

Charlie lowers the cake knife, letting it hover over the icing. It’s only seconds, but it feels like eras go by before he presses it into the cake, digging through the mess of the icing, the metal disappearing into the sponge.

We’re all holding our breaths, not a sound in the room but the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Charlie raises the knife and makes another incision. He pulls the first slice out, revealing the interior of the cake. There isn’t a hint of strawberry. Not anywhere. No jam at all.

It’s a fucking sponge cake. Pale yellow butter-cream between the layers. There’s nothing wrong with it.

Charlie breathes a sigh of relief, his upper body slumping as if the only thing keeping him upright was fear.

“Told you he’d lost his mind,” one of the twins says in a stage whisper.

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