Page 40 of Toxic

So I've only seen her from a distance, watching her from my car as she dropped the kids off at school or disappeared inside the building. Sometimes, I'd text or call her just to see her reaction. Did she really hate me? Was today the day she would finally talk to me?

I'd only succeeded in torturing myself more. She'd throw my calls into voicemail or stare at my text then squeeze her eyes shut. Every now and then, she'd stare at my SUV as if she knew I was only a few hundred feet away from her.It's how I knew.

She was still in so much pain. Even from far away, I could see the light was gone in her eyes. Emptiness replaced it, and her greenish-blue orbs seemed almost dull.

Now, she's in front of me, drunk, on the dance floor, and with a man I know nothing about, but I know enough.

If he has any relationship with the Abruzzos, he's bad news.

I step to move toward her, and Gianni pulls me back. "We wait. You know the rules."

I cringe inside, ready to throw every rule to the curb.

"She could get hurt," Gianni states.

Those four words make my fists at the sides of my body hurt. They keep my feet planted where they are.

Every family has to follow the club's rules. Going against them would start a war. So I have to wait until this prick makes a wrong move. Since Bridget's the Irish mafia princess, the club and families will overlook any violence that may occur if he steps out of line. My gut says there's no way this isn't going to get physical. This club demands consent at all times, and there's no way Bridget's letting this thug fuck her here.

Every moment I watch her dance with her body pressed to his makes me angrier. She's drunk, stumbling often. Her eyes are bloodshot, and he keeps handing her more whiskey.

Gianni and I watch, waiting for what I can feel is about to happen. My stomach curls and my fists tighten. I'm utilizing every ounce of restraint I have to hold myself back from tearing him off her.

Then the dickhead makes his move. He takes her to the couch. The moment he kisses her, bile creeps up my throat. Over the years, I got used to Sean's lips on hers. I couldn't even hate him for it. He made her happy and treated her well. As much as I wanted her, if I couldn't have her, I learned to appreciate that she was Sean's. But this thug is never getting my approval.

It doesn't take long before she's slapping his hand. He doesn't stop and gets more aggressive.

Gianni and I practically fly across the room. I'm thankful we're in Rubio's suite. If it were anyone else's, who knows how this will end.

I tear him off her and land a punch on his cheek. He tries to fight back, but I hit him again. Gianni pulls out his gun, and the prick freezes.

Bridget cowers on the sofa, hiding her face. I sling her over my shoulder, storming out of the room. She screams and kicks me, but it only makes me hold her thighs tighter.

Gianni and I say nothing, getting in the elevator. We go straight to the parking garage. Bridget continues to try and fight me, but she's too weak from her intoxicated state for me to even feel it.

It makes me angrier. She has no right to be in this club or this drunk here. It's not safe for her.

Our SUV pulls up the moment we step outside. I put Bridget in the backseat. Gianni and I hop in next to her. The driver takes off, and she slowly turns toward me.

Her glistening, sad eyes are about to overflow. My heart squeezes so damn hard, I can barely breathe.

Gianni knocks on the divider window and calls out, "Tully's."

Bridget glances at Gianni as if just realizing he's here. Her eyes widen, and the tears drop. She grabs my arm. "No. I can't go home. Dante, please."

There are so many things I want to ask her. Too many overdue things I've been dying to know. But I say nothing, not knowing where to start, wondering how she got into that club and how to make sure she never goes there again.

"Our place," Gianni directs the driver.

"No! I-Killian and Arianna are there. I-I can't go there," Bridget frets.

"Bridget—"

"Please. Anywhere but those two places. I-I can't do it right now," she admits and breaks down.

I pull her onto my lap and hold her head to my chest. "Ritz," I tell the driver.

She sobs harder. Somewhere in there are sorries that get caught in her throat and make her chest heave.

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