Page 12 of Claimed By a Knight

“Stop wasting my fucking time with your bullshit,” he snaps.

“Ah, that’s what this is about.” It slips out of me before my brain has a chance to stop my tongue.

“What did you just say to me?” Ezra’s eyes widen, nostrils flaring. He looks ready to launch himself over the table and give me a spanking for talking back.

For the first time since we started playing this silly game, the swelling knot of anxiety takes hold in my stomach. It reaffirms my suspicions that walking out on him would’ve been worse than staying here and shoveling the shit he’s thrown my way.

At least here, Ezra’s not only wasting my time. Mercury Bank has security on the premises day and night, and with the two of us still in-house, they have to stay extra vigilant on the off-chance that this is some kind of setup for a robbery.

But what’s done is done, and I can’t take back what I said. The only thing I can do now is try and soothe his hot-headed temper, or continue with my show of defiance.

As much as I hate to do it, the former is my best bet of walking away from this unscathed. Hopefully, Talon has seen my message, and he’s headed my way. Until then, I shouldn’t risk anything.

“If local investments aren’t to your liking, we can look at offshore platforms.”

“No.” Ezra’s head snaps from side to side. “You don’t get to disrespect me and come away by talking shop. You’re damn fucking right that’s what this is about. You wasted my time, got me excited, and ready for a night out, and what do I find when I walk through the door? You clinging to the arm of some pathetic piece of shit.”

Yup, I definitely unleashed a can of worms with this one. I recline back in my chair once more to get as far away from Ezra as I can, slipping a finger under my desk over a button underneath that will have security at my desk in seconds.

“Look, Ezra, it’s got nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re a great guy. This has just been a long time coming.” Appealing to his sense of image and importance might be enough to cool his temper.

“You fucking a street rat has been a long time coming?” His nose twitches as he speaks. “Maybe it’s a good thing it didn’t happen then, with all the disgusting diseases you two now share.”

Not the worst insult I’ve heard tonight. Guess I’ll take it as a win.

“So, why not go home and forget about this? Why are you agonizing over?—”

“Shut the fuck up. We’re not done here until I say we’re done.” Ezra’s voice booms through the empty bank. Until now, he’skept himself mostly quiet and composed. His comments were made to cut, but he didn’t want to call any attention to himself. Ezra’s mask slips off completely, and I don’t like what I’m seeing behind it.

But before I have a chance to respond, talk him down from the heights of anger, a hulking mass of ferocity appears and towers over him.

“You should’ve listened,” Talon says, his hand falling onto Ezra’s shoulder. “Woulda saved you a trip to the dentist.” The same hand tightens, and Talon hoists Ezra out of his chair as easily as lifting paper from a desk.

Ashen white coats Ezra’s face like he’s just seen a ghost. Even as he’s hoisted to his feet, so limp and wobbly, Ezra nearly topples onto the floor.

He opens his mouth to speak, only the first syllable managing to escape before Talon spins him around and swings a mighty fist into his face. He crumples to the floor, collapsing into a mess of limbs as whiny, terrified squeaks emit from his mouth.

“Think you’re the big man, huh?” Talon leans forward, grabbing a fistful of Ezra’s shirt, and yanks him back up. “Cornering my woman in her workplace? Calling her names and making her feel less? How does it feel to stand face to face with someone who can do something about it?”

Again, Ezra opens his mouth, pearly whites coated in red, and Talon cuts him off again. This time with a lefthanded slap that turns his cheeks a deep shade of red. Flecks of purple form in an instant, warning of the bruises he’ll have on show tomorrow.

“Let him go,” someone shouts from behind. “Don’t make me use this.”

Talon looks over his shoulder at Pete Winslow, an older man who nervously holds a stun gun up to his back. In his state of fury, I can’t see many folks reasoning with the beast.

“Hey,” I say calmly, directly at Talon’s ear. He’s still holding onto Ezra’s limp body, and if he releases, the poor fool will smack his head against my cubicle’s divider. “Talking to you, big guy.”

Hearing that, Talon’s head slowly moves away from Pete and back to me. I tell him, “We’re all good here. You don’t need to take it out on the old timer.”

“But—” Talon shakes his head as his eyes drop to the mess of a man in his grip. His gaze doesn’t linger there long before it settles on me completely.

Something about seeing this confusion makes my heart flutter in my chest. With my rapidly beating heart comes a flood between my thighs at the raw intensity on display. Talon came in so angry, the whole world disappeared behind a film of rage, only removed by protecting me.

And now he’s done it. We’re safe and sound, and his returning senses plaster an adorable confusion on his otherwise stern features.

He releases Ezra, and as predicted, his head thuds against the divider, followed by a groan. Talon tries to make sense of it all, keeping his eyes pinned on mine, and after a measured minute, he shakes his head and launches forward. His hands snap around my waist, and he yanks me over the table toward him for a kiss.

What a kiss it is, standing over our defeated foe, with an old man staring in disbelief.

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