Page 22 of Boss Daddy

I don’t think. I just run.

My legs feel like lead, but I force myself forward, to the club, the only chance I have.

“Samuel!” I scream.

The club door looms ahead. I slam my fists against it, the metal cold and unforgiving beneath my palms. “Please! Open up!”

My heart hammers and the world tilts, my ears straining for any sound, any sign that Samuel is coming to help me.

Footsteps pound the pavement behind me.

I keep banging, keep praying.

“Please,” I whisper. “Samuel, please.”

Chapter 8

Samuel

The sound of frantic pounding on the door caused my head to snap up, my gut twisting with a sick sense of dread. I turned to the security monitor on my desk, my eyes locking onto the grainy feed from the front door camera.

Erin. Banging and yelling.

Fear is written all over her face, her eyes wide, her fists slamming against the metal. The feed is only visual, so I can’t hear what she’s saying. I don’t need to.

Everything in me goes cold and sharp and I’m on my feet in an instant.

The hallway blurs as I sprint toward the front door, my heart hammering. I grip the handle, wrenching it open just in time to see the bastard from last week raise his hand and slap Erin hard across the face.

The sharp crack of the slap cuts through the night. All I see is red.

I don’t think. I just move.

A roar rips from my throat as I charge forward, the world narrowing to the son of a bitch in front of me. My shoulder slams into his torso, and we hit the ground hard.The impact is painful as hell, but the only thing on my mind is taking this asshole down and making sure Erin is safe. I roll over, meeting the eyes of the attacker, grabbing his shoulder and pinning him to the sidewalk.

I see his face—the sneer, the twisted satisfaction—and my fist flies.

One.

The crunch of bone beneath my knuckles barely registers. He groans, his head snapping to the side, but I don’t stop.

Two.

His nose shatters, blood spraying across his face. I don’t care. He hit her. He’ll pay.

Three.

My fist connects with his jaw, sending pain through my hand and straight up my arm. One more like that and I might kill him.

I hear Erin’s voice in the distance, but it’s muffled, lost in the fury roaring through me.

“Samuel!” she shouts, panicked.

Suddenly, arms wrap around my chest, hauling me back.

“Easy, man! You want to kill the guy?” It’s James.

I’m breathing hard, every muscle in my body straining to go back, to finish the job, but James holds on tight. The bastard rolls onto his side, groaning, blood dripping from his bustednose.

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