Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I lean in close, my face inches from Kirk’s. He smells like sour sweat and cheap cologne, a scent that offends every instinct I have. My voice, when I speak, is a low, vibrating growl that barely sounds human. It’s the voice of the Steel Sinners. It’s the voice of a man protecting his soul.
"You have been a very busy boy, Kirk," I whisper, the words sharp as a razor. "You like taking pictures? You like following women who don't want you? You think you have a connection? The only connection you're going to have is with the bottom of a desert hole if you ever breathe the same air as her again."
He tries to speak, a wheezing, pathetic sound, but I tighten my grip just enough to remind him that his life is currently a gift I am choosing not to take from him yet. His eyes are bulging, filled with a raw, animalistic terror that should satisfy me, but it doesn't. It’s not enough. It will never be enough for what he put her through. I slam him harder, just to hear that helpless gasp again. My blood is roaring in my ears, and there’s a dark, ugly satisfaction in watching Kirk Voss finally look as powerless as he’s always made Serenity feel.
Then the bathroom door crashes open and nearly flies off the hinges. Dillon stumbles in, blood streaming down his forehead and dripping down the front of his shirt. Christ. He looks like he just lost a cage match with a length of rebar.
“Diesel!” His voice is a thick growl, but he’s holding his head with both hands. “The fucker jumped me outside. Must’ve been hiding behind the dumpster. Caught me with something heavy.” He glares straight at Voss, pure murder in his eyes, while blood leaks down his temple like a horror movie prop.
Kirk whimpers at the sight of Dillon, which frankly, is pathetic even for him. I raise an eyebrow. “You need a minute to settle things?”
Dillon spits on the tile. “Just five with that piece of shit and a tire iron. Then I’m golden.”
I almost laugh. Serenity makes a wet, shuddery sound behind me, and my chest squeezes tight. She’s still pale, eyes glued to me, needing this to be over. I get it. She needs this nightmare finished, not dragged out. I slam Kirk against the tiles again, just for good measure. The asshole squeals, but all I see is Serenity standing there, shaking, desperate for me to end this shit.
I shift my grip and snarl in Voss’s ear, low enough that only he and I can hear, “I’m going to let my brother take care of you. It sucks to be you.”
Kirk whimpers, all pretense gone. The coward’s pissing himself. Pathetic. I turn to Dillon, keeping Voss pinned with one hand. Dillon looks like he wants to murder someone.
“He’s all yours.” I jerk my chin at the bastard in my grip. “Have fun.”
Dillon grins, teeth bloody, eyes burning with pure murder. “You know it.”
I let go, and Kirk hits the floor, scrambling backward, but there’s nowhere to go. Dillon advances, smiling like a wolf. I block Serenity’s view, keeping her in my arms, safe from the mess behind me.
“Don’t look, sweetness.” I cradle her head against my chest, shielding her from the ugly sounds echoing off the tiles. “It’s over. No one’s ever touching you again.”
“Is your friend going to kill Kirk?” She snuggles closer, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel her steady heartbeat against my chest.
“No, but Kirk is going to wish he’s dead once Dillon gets through with him,” I tell her.
She leans back and gives me a wicked smile. “Too bad.” Fuck, this woman is perfect for me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SERENITY
We finally pull into the driveway of Diesel’s house, and the garage door hasn’t even fully closed before he’s out of the car. He rounds the front of the SUV in three predatory strides and yanks my door open. He doesn’t wait for me to move. He reaches in, unbuckles my seatbelt with a violent flick of his wrist, and pulls me into his arms, carrying me toward the door like I’m something precious and broken.
The moment we’re inside the mudroom, he sets me down, but he doesn't let go. His hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with a frantic, searching rhythm. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide until there’s barely any amber left, scanning every inch of me for a mark, a bruise, anything that shouldn't be there.
“He touched you,” Diesel says, the words falling like lead weights. “He put his fucking hands on you.”
“I’m okay,” I say. And I mean it. Seeing Kirk next to Diesel showed me he’s so weak and small. Plus, Diesel’s huge friend is currently taking care of Kirk. Whatever that means. “Diesel, look at me. I’m right here.”