Page 44 of Prince of Tides
“Okay, pretty boy,” I said, pulling water from his legs as I strode up to him, and he tried to back away.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” Eric asked as his legs refused to work, locking up.
“Far less than you deserve,” I snarled, knocking him out with a single punch.
I darted in and caught his head as he fell backward, stopping his skull from smashing against the concrete and likely causing severe brain damage. Then I unceremoniously hauled him to the trash bin and threw him in.
By the time I returned to Laurie, she was on her feet, looking around.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
I sighed. “We all have a past,” I said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m sure someone called the police. I don’t want to stick around and wait to deal with that. Do you?”
“No,” she agreed. “I don’t.”
But she didn’t follow me toward the car. Instead, she moved to the pile of thugs.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I asked as she started rifling through their pockets.
“Finding out who the fuck these guys are. They don’t work for Eric. Did you catch that look he gave them? Something’s going on here, and if they’re going to come after me, I need to know who they are. You might not always be around to protect me.”
“What do you intend to do with that?” I asked as she found a wallet. I wanted to tell her I would always protect her, I would always be there, but I didn’t want to lie, so I remained silent.
Laurie stood, a determined look spreading across her beautiful face, showing a hardness I didn’t know she possessed.
“Take it to my father,” she growled. “They might not stop with me. My entire family needs to be on alert, and we need to find out who the fuck they are. We don’t take kidnapping attempts very well in the Stiller family. Come on. Let’s go.”
I watched her go, a grin spreading across my face.
Damn. My mate wasbadass.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Laurie
“Wait, Laurie,” Rip said as we walked down the hallway toward my father’s office.
It was late, but it was a weeknight, so I knew he’d still be at work in some capacity or another. He no longer limited himself like he had when Mel, Bryan, and I were little, always making time for his kids.
“What is it?” I asked, glancing at him, only to see his green-blue eyes fixed firmly on the thick wooden double doors marked by a simple sign that read “Mark Stiller.”
Was he nervous? He wouldn’t be the first person who had been unnerved about meeting my father, but that was usually because they knew who he was. Rip had confessed to not knowing my family—and boy, wasn’t that a relief!—so I wasn’t sure why he would care.
“Are you sure I should go in there?” he rumbled. “I don’t want to become the focus of the conversation. Maybe you should talk to him yourself?”
I smiled. “Are you scared to meet my dad?”
Rip jerked like he’d been stung. “No, of course not,” he said, waving that away. “I just … he’s going to ask questions. Questions that maybe we don’t want to answer yet.”
His eyes fell to my stomach. I touched it reflexively as I thought about Rip’s point. It was true. My father, besides being rather inquisitive, was a smart man. I was in no way showing my pregnancy yet, not for some time to come, I was sure, but would that matter? My father was observant.
“No,” I said, going against that initial gut feeling. “They were after me, and you intervened. What I do in my personal life is my business. He’ll respect that.”
I hope.
“All right,” Rip said without argument, resuming walking.
I knocked on the door before entering.
