Page 9 of Tangled Desires

Imogen’s hand grabs my arm. “Harrison, leave it.” But there’s no leaving. Not now. My pulse pounds like a drum, and Jesse’s shit-eating grin is daring me to lose it. He’s begging for a reckoning, and I’m about to give him one.

“You should really pick better company, Imogen.” Jesse tosses out another jab.

The world goes white-hot. There’s no pause, no thought—just the crack of my fist slamming into his face. The impact jolts up my arm, sharp and satisfying. Jesse stumbles back, clutching his nose, blood already streaming down his hand. His glare burns, humiliated and furious.

“Prick,” he spits, swinging wildly. His knuckles glance off my cheek, but it’s a tap compared to the fire in my chest.

“Cut it out, Harrison.” I hear Michael’s voice before I even see him. Soon enough, his hands are on me, pulling me back. I shake him off, heart racing, mind spiraling, but Michael’s got a grip on me.

“Let me go,” I snarl, chest heaving.

“Breathe, mate. Just breathe.” Michael’s words soothe me for a moment. They always have. But deep down, I know they’re never enough. Not enough to tame the simmering beast inside. Jesse spits blood and words, trying to squirm free from Jono’s grip.

Imogen steps in front of me. “Stop, Harrison!” she shouts. “What is wrong with you?”

Everything.What isn’t?Every muscle is coiled, every nerve burning. Her words hit harder than Jesse’s punch. Michael’s grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. He knows better.

“Fucking pathetic.” Jesse spits.

Imogen wheels on him. “Get out, Jesse. Now. Before you embarrass yourself anymore.”

“You’re all bloody crazy,” he mutters, storming off into the crowd.

Michael gives me a shove toward the door. “Outside.Now.”

The air is cooler outside, but the tension clings. The crowd inside barely noticed. Just another bar fight at the Loose Lasso. Nothing new.

Michael finally lets go. “You’re a bloody idiot, you know that?” Can’t deny that. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You good to drive?”

I nod. I’d only had two beers, so I’m fine, though my jaw aches. Imogen crosses her arms, staring like she’s not done with me yet. She probably isn’t.

I walk to my car and pop open the door of my ‘04 Subaru Rexy, the cool night air doing jack shit to put out the fire still roaring in my chest. Footsteps. The sharpclick-clickof her heels echoes behind me. “Harrison!” Her voice slices through the night. “Wait up!”

Grinding my teeth, I stop mid-step, glancing over my shoulder. “Go home, Imogen. Just... leave.”

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. “Seriously, what was that back there?”

“That prick got what he deserved,” I say, wiping the blood off my lip.

“You can’t just punch people because it makes you feel better!” Her arms cross, and the way it pushes her tits up—fuck me dead—has no right to look that good when I’m this pissed.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“No, you can’t!”

I step closer, crowding her space. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Is this about him? You care about him, huh? That it?”

Her eyes narrow. “Absolutely not!”

“Then why are you here busting my balls about it?” My voice rises, my pulse pounding in my temples. She hesitates, and I pounce. “Let me tell you something. That wanker deserved more than a punch. Mouth off like that again, and he’ll wish it stopped with a black eye. He’s bloody lucky.”

Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but the words don’t come. Her body stiffens, a flicker of something—confusion,maybe—playing in her stance. She just stares, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel.

“You can’t just lose your shit and expect everyone to look the other way!” she snaps, stepping closer, blue eyes blazing with that fire she’s famous for. It’s maddening. And fucking irresistible. I know she’s right, though. But controlling this rage, this darkness, is harder than she’ll ever understand.

She’s so close now. Too close. Every bit of me is screaming to either kiss her or start another fight. Christ, this woman’s gonna be the death of me.

“Why do you care?” I step closer, close enough to catch the faintest hitch in her breath. Her chest rises and falls quicker now, and we’re practically sharing the same bloody air. “What does it matter to you what I do?”

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