Page 84 of Lassoed Love

“What the fuck did you want me to do? Just let that cunt run his mouth about Isla, about Olivia—our own fucking sister, Brad!” I’m seething, anger radiating off me in waves.

“Hey, I don’t blame you for retaliating, but you need to be smart. Shit like this can get you locked up, bud. What if he presses charges, huh? What are you gonna do then?” I don’t answer him, my gaze fixed on Isla, my chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Bradley continues, “I get that the guy was a complete asshole, but you could have handled it differently. Now you’re risking getting yourself in trouble.”

“You didn’t have to punch him,” Isla asserts.

My eyes narrow, and fuck, I can feel my anger bubbling to the surface again. “Isla, you don’t understand. He crossed a line, insulted you and Olivia, and I couldn’t just stand there.”

“But you have to think about the consequences,” she argues, but her eyes show a different kind of emotion, like she's battling thoughts in her head. “Bradley is right.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration most likely evidentin my features. “I don’t give a fuck about the consequences.” I notice Isla shudder, no doubt from the glare I'm currently sporting. Fuck, I really need to calm down.

“If you girls hadn’t gone to the bar, none of this would have happened,” I bark, frustration boiling over as Olivia and Imogen quickly defend their actions.

“Hey! We were just getting another drink and some shots. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Olivia retorts, and Imogen cautiously adds, “Yeah, it was my idea.”

I remain relentless, my concern for their safety driving my words. “What if those fuckers had spiked your drinks? And you just let them get close to you. You need to be smart, Liv. I thought I taught you better.”

Olivia tries to argue back, but Bradley intervenes, commanding her to let it go. She huffs in frustration and storms off, walking down the street, Amelia trailing behind her.

“But there’s nothing wrong with us talking to a bunch of guys. It was harmless,” Isla retorts.

“They had no business talking to you, Isla.”

“Why? I mean, we’re just—” I cut her off before she can finish that sentence. I’m done with hearing excuses. There’s no chance we’re just ‘friends’, and she can’t be that blind to know or see how I feel.

“Don’t,” I growl, my voice sharp and commanding, “you dare finish that sentence.”

As her words hang in the air, I’m hit with a wave of realisation. Earlier, I might have said we were ‘friends’ to ease any tension, tomake things less awkward. But now, standing here, looking into her eyes, I know. I know I can’t deny it anymore.

I’ve made a decision, one I’ve never made before. This woman in front of me, Isla—she’s mine. Whether she likes it or not. And it’s time I make that clear.

Harrison mutters a low, “Oh, shit.”

“When you damn well know we are notjustfriends, Isla,” I declare, my voice carrying a weight of intensity. She must understand. “I defended you because I care about you, Isla. Whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

“No one touches what’s mine,” I grumble, my voice low, anger simmering beneath the surface. The thought of another guy putting his hands on Isla ignites a fierce protectiveness within me, a primal instinct to defend what’s mine.

An audible gasp escapes her lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I can almost see the thoughts swirling in her head, the confusion, the realisation. It’s a tumultuous storm, and I’ve just thrown a stone into the heart of it. As our voices escalate in the heated argument, the two security guards from the bar reappear, yelling out, “Oi, you lot need to get the fuck outta here!” The urgency in their tone is clear, and another one of them adds, “Now!”

Harrison and Michael, sensing the need to diffuse the situation, chime in, “Xav, let’s go!”

I’m hearing their voices, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Isla, waiting for something. Anything. At that moment, caught up in the tension, she looks at me for a second before blurting out, “I-I needto get home.” She turns to Imogen, searching for support. “Imogen, you coming?”

It all happens so quickly, the guards pushing us further onto the street, Billy and his lowlife mates long gone. This isn’t over. She can't just fucking leave now. I watch as the girls flag down a passing taxi and open the doors. Imogen says something to her quickly, placing a comforting hand on her arm. Isla glances back at me before disappearing into the taxi and vanishing down the street.

Fury boils inside me. There is no way I make a declaration like that for her to run away. She needs to stop running away. I’ll be damned if I let her get away from me again. My emotions are a chaotic whirlwind—anger, frustration, and a deep, undeniable yearning. She needs to understand, needs to see that I’m not going to let her go that easily.

I stride forward, my steps purposeful, my mind set. Isla may have run this time, but she won’t get far.

I won’t let her.

34

The taxi drops Imogen off first, and even though she offers to stay, I assure her I’ll be fine. As I step into my apartment, frustration still lingers from the night’s events. I kick off my boots, dropping them by the door with a heavy thud, the echo of my annoyance.

Heading further into the apartment, I undress, shedding the layers that carry the remnants of a night gone awry. Wearing jeans and a frill off-the-shoulder top, the fabric falls away, leaving me with a sense of vulnerability, raw emotions simmering beneath the surface.

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