Page 88 of Kidnapped By the Beast
This fucker had forced her to strip.
Rage rose in him—sharp as a blade—and dropped a bloody curtain over his vision. Brandt knew in that instant he would kill anyone—everyone—to keep her safe.
But first, there was other business to attend to. Two officers stood at the edge of the room with their backs to him, watching Alexandra with interest. They were thick-shouldered brutes with dull eyes and clenched fists.
Brandt was glad to see that neither they nor Butcher had noticed him yet. All their attention was on Alexandra. Brandt caught the gleam of a gun in the lone shark’s meaty hand, raised casually as if her life were already his.
Slowly, he moved.
Silent as a shadow, he closed on the first officer, one hand clamping over the man’s mouth before he could grunt a warning. The officer’s eyes bulged, arms flailing, but Brandt snapped his neck with one brutal twist. The body sagged and he lowered it gently to the floor without a sound.
One down.
He moved forward. His boot scuffed the floor and the second officer turned, eyes widening, but he was too slow. Brandt drove his fist into the man’s throat. A strangled wheeze burst out, cut short as the man crumpled, clutching his ruined windpipe. Brandt caught him under the arms and lowered him silently beside his companion.
Two down.
His pulse thundered, but his breath stayed steady. The whole encounter had taken just a few seconds. And Butcher, oblivious, was still gloating at Alexandra.
Brandt’s gaze flicked back to her. She was trembling, her skin flushed with humiliation, golden nectar leaking in shining trails over the swell of her breasts. She clutched herself tighter and looked up, her green eyes locking onto him and going wide.
Her look—hope and despair mingled together—seared into his chest.
I’ll never forgive myself for letting this happen to you, little Lexi. But I swear to the Goddess, no one will ever hurt you again!
“Hey—what are you looking at, girly?”
Butcher turned then, catching Lexi’s shift in expression. He started to pivot…but too late.
Brandt was already there. He surged forward and seized Butcher’s wrist. His fingers closed like an iron vise and the gun clattered to the filthy floor.
“Ow! What the fuck?” the human snarled. “Let me go!”
“I don’t think so. You must be Butcher,” Brandt growled, glaring down at him.
Butcher’s small, piggy eyes went wide, his mouth working as the cigar stub fell from his thick lips.
“Who the fuck are you?” he managed at last.
Rage roared through Brandt’s body and he saw the other male’s face as a wash of bloody red.
“I’m the one who’s going to kill you for touching my woman,” he growled.
He released the male’s wrist only to lock both hands around Butcher’s thick throat. He lifted him with effortless strength, hauling his bulk into the air like a child’s doll.
The Rage pulsed through him, hot and red.
This bastard dared to strip her…dared to shame her…dared to put his filthy hands on her.
For that he was going to die.
Butcher clawed at Brandt’s hands, face turning from red to purple. His legs kicked uselessly in the air, one shoe falling off to bounce on the filthy floor. His eyes bulged, panic overtaking him as he wheezed, trying desperately to draw a breath.
Brandt squeezed harder—harder. He could feel the pulse hammering beneath his fingers fluttering, then slowing. He could see the light dimming from the human’s ugly little eyes and still he didn’t stop.
He wanted the male to feel it, to know that he had touched the wrong woman. He wanted it to be his last fucking thought—the realization that he had brought this on himself—that he had caused his own death.
At last, the thick body went slack. Butcher’s head lolled, his eyes rolled back, his tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth.
