Page 36 of Bedding Rose
She tries to turn, to glance up at me in confusion. “Angelo—”
I grab her shoulders and gently turn her back where I directed, squeezing slightly. “Stand. And. Watch.” I’m barely restrained right now, about to fly off the handle. Fury jolts through me as wild and dangerous as electricity. I can’t even appreciate how gorgeous Rose looks with her lips swollen from our kiss. Because I have something I need to do.
I stomp out of the meeting room, my dress shoes smacking against the floor while my eyes scan the massive lobby. Inside my chest, tension coils as my body gets ready for what’s about to go down.
But the crowd that was here, milling underneath old wagon-wheel chandeliers a few minutes ago has retreated and moved on. I see people milling around the courtyard, clustering around the refreshments table. I beeline for it.
I’m certain my expression is less than friendly because more than one person takes a quick look at me and backs the fuck away. Smart fuckers have some sense of self-preservation because if anyone gets in my way right now, I might not give a shit that they’re a bystander.
My eyes scan the crowd. All I’ve got to go on was a quick look at this cabrón, Nick, but it was enough. There aren’t many young people in the crowd. Quique and his girl, Candace, are huddled over in a far corner, near the stage. They’re easy to spot because of her hot pink dress. He tries to wave me over but I ignore him. I pass Rose’s friends standing amongst a group of much older people and then I spot him.
He’s leaving the bar, beer in hand as he walks towards the appetizer table. My gaze hones in on him like I’m sighting down a rifle, about to shoot a buck. I could wait for later. I probably should. It’s reckless to proceed right now. Later, as he’s leaving, the parking lot would provide a better confrontation location.
But I don’t want to wait. I’ve already waited. I’ve been begging Rose to tell me who the fuck destroyed her for weeks. And now, he’s here, in my grasp.
It’s going to happen.
My feet glide forward slowly, methodically, carefully—contrasting the wild beast inside of me that insists I rush at him and rip his head off with my bare hands. I have to be subtle about this or I could end up in cuffs. Though I don’t think that’s the biggest deal, I don’t want to traumatize Rose any further. I move behind a group of people chatting, standing just behind them. I pretend I’m evaluating the line for drinks as I study this motherfucker.
He’s got dark brown hair and brown eyes with a smudge of a nose that looks like it’s been broken before. I rule out breaking it again. I don’t want him to feel familiar pain. I want him to feel something so goddamned terrifying that every time he remembers this moment, piss dribbles from his tiny dick.
He grabs a couple tiny triangle sandwiches and loads them onto a plate. Then he grabs a few crisp, thin, cracker-style breadsticks jutting up from a cup they’ve been packed into like stalks of wheat.
Inspiration strikes.
I advance, every muscle coiled, every breath measured, my heartbeat pumping like a bass speaker—loud in my ears. I step up beside him.
I grab a breadstick and take a quick bite as I pretend to peruse the table’s offerings. “Sandwiches good?” I have to clear my throat and act like the growl in my tone was accidental. I glance around to see if anyone’s eyes are on us, but Ms. Dalton is heading toward the microphone, getting ready to speak, so people are moving toward their seats.
Perfect.
“Eh, they’re kind of bland,” this fucker replies as he takes a bite from one of them. Nonchalant. Casual. After he just walked away from terrorizing my girl.
As soon as I see him start to swallow, I move in.
In under a second, I’m behind him, arms wrapping around Nick’s waist. I shove my fists up under his rib cage and squeeze for all I’m worth as I bodily pick him up and spin him around so his torso is away from the crowd.
“Shit man! Breathe! Breathe!” I yell as I punch my combined fists as hard as I can into his solar plexus, mimicking the Heimlich, relishing the way he gasps when I steal the air from his lungs by being far rougher than necessary.
One of his hands flails back in an attempt to fight me off and he clips my jaw. Pain crackles across my skull, but it merely spurs me on. I like that this won’t be easy. It makes the beast inside me yowl in perverse pleasure.
I strike again, pounding inward, and I hear a delicious cracking sound that I hope means a rib broke. My temples pulse with adrenaline lined with the sweet edge of rage as I throw him to the ground on his back. I quickly straddle him, sitting on his chest, my legs pinning down his arms to the ground as I fake a wide-eyed look to the crowd and yell, “We need a doctor!”
The crowd turns, and I can feel the energy in the room shifting as eyes fall on us. Bored expectation transforms into horrified fascination as people stare, watching my attempt to ‘save’ this poor fool from himself.
Still wheezing, his deep brown eyes are wide and delightfully scared as I pry open his mouth and shove my hand right down his throat. The cuff of my sleeve grows wet with spit as I push aside his writhing tongue letting my fingers scrape and scratch amongst the slimy flesh, ensuring I make it hurt as I violate this stupid fucker’s throat.
“Oh my God! Someone’s choking!” one woman murmurs.
“Should I call an ambulance?” a man asks.
“Yes. Call for help!” I do my best impression of distraught concern as my fingers find, pinch, and yank on his uvula.
I lean forward over him and whisper low, so no one else can hear, “I hear you like to call for your friends when you’ve got a woman alone.”
His eyes start to water as he realizes I know.
That’s right. I know what a piece of shit you are. And now, your life is in my hands.
