Page 68 of The Devil's Torment

Jesus, read the room, Matthew.

“Andrew, now.” Nicholas grips Matthew by the upper arm. “Mr. Courteney and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Nicholas, you promised,” I call out.

He doesn’t answer. The last thing I see is my husband pitching my ex through a door marked: Private.

Oh, fuck.

ChapterTwenty-Four

NICHOLAS

The sight of my wife in the arms of another man—a man I fucking recognized from the detailed background check I’d had done on him as soon as I knew of his existence—has awoken a jealous fucking beast inside me. One that, until Victoria, I hadn’t even been aware existed. But one that has made me want to murder this guy with my bare hands after I caught the tail end of their conversation.

I’d promised her I wouldn’t go looking for him, and I’d kept that promise. But he’d walked into my fucking casino and made coarse comments about wanting to get on my wife’s body. That alone nullified any promises I made.

The bastard’s lucky he’s still fucking breathing.

I’d watched Victoria stiffen when he’d put his filthy fucking arms around her, his touch as uninvited and unwelcome as a tax audit on Christmas morning. I’d almost barged into several paying customers in my haste to get to her.

Logic tells me I should let it slide and go be with my wife on her birthday, but, see, I don’twantto let it go. I want to piss on my territory and make sure Matthew fucking Courteney knows what’ll happen if he ever comes near my wife again.

“Take a seat.” I point to a chair.

He stays standing. “What’s this about?”

I jab my finger at the chair. One chance. That’s all he gets. If he doesn’t fucking sit in it this time, I’ll put him on his arse. “Sitthe fuckdown.”

His instincts must ignite, allowing the threat in my tone to break through his thick skull. He sits, and the first flickers of fear trickle into his eyes. I’ve seen this look many times before. It’s why it’s easy to recognize. Human males haven’t evolved all that much from our ancestors. We’re bred to recognize threats, and he sees one in me.

His hands come up in a conciliatory fashion. “Look, mate, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

I grab another chair, spin it around, and straddle it, resting my arms on the back. “I am not your fuckingmate.” My tone is lethal. “I am your worst nightmare.”

He blinks rapidly, eyes panning to the door before landing back on mine. He shifts in the chair. “I didn’t know she was married. I’ve been away. I’m in the navy.”

He says it like it should give me pause or I should respect him just because he’s a military man. In my world, respect is earned, and I willneverhave respect for a man who called a woman frigid, even if he’d made fucking Admiral. A woman he was dating. A woman he should have fucking cared for. I willneverhave respect for a man who treats a woman as though she were a piece of meat created only for his pleasure.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

His nostrils flare, and I can almost see him working out whether he wants to risk taking me on, or if he should try to talk his way out of whatever he thinks I’m going to do to him.

“I get it, okay? You’re possessive with her, and I touched what belongs to you. But like I said, I didn’t know she was married.”

“From the vantage point I had, you didn’t exactly give her a chance to tell you before you put your filthy fucking hands all over her without her consent and talked to her like she was nothing more than a body.” I lean in even closer, taking enormous pleasure in the way his pupils blow wide. “It’s my wife’s birthday, and I would much rather be with her than with you, so I’m going to make this quick.”

I snap out a hand and lock it around his throat. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, and he automatically tries to peel my fingers away. I tighten my grip.

“If youevercome near my wife again, if you even look at her, say hello to her, or even fuckingthinkabout her, I will kill you. You won’t see me coming until it’s too fucking late. Do I make myself clear?”

He bobs his head until it’s at risk of falling right off his neck. “I get it, man,” he rasps. “I’m sorry, okay.”

I squeeze even harder. His face turns purple, and it’s not fear in his eyes any longer, it’s blind terror. His legs kick out.

I stand up, dragging him to his feet. “It’s my wife who deserves the apology, but as you will never fucking see her again, I’ll pass on your apologies to her myself.” I let go and shove him across the room. He stumbles, crashing into a tall filing cabinet on the wall, barely saving himself from falling.

“Get out, you fucking worthless piece of shit.”

---