Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream at him, and go in for another kick when I feel a hand on my arm, and turn, furious, ready to do the same to whoever this is.
And find myself facing Roman.
In an instant, the adrenaline drains from my body, and I collapse into his arms. They wrap around me and pull me close, and I feel his lips on the top of my head as the words all tumble out at once.
“I was just… I wanted more food… And they didn’t serve breakfast, but they told me… And I was crossing the street, and then… He touched me… I didn’t want him to touch me…”
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” Roman’s hand strokes my hair down my back. “I’m just going to put you on the sidewalk, and then me and this fucker are going to have a few words.”
I’m shaking my head as he leads me to the other side of the street. I vaguely realize that the traffic has stopped both ways, and people are out of their cars with their phones up, filming what is going on.
“No, don’t… Roman, he only touched me… Please, I don’t want you to—”
“I said I’m going to have words with him, and I mean it,” he says, taking either side of my face in his hands. “That’s something I’ve been working on. You already did the violent stuff anyway, and I’m so proud of you for it. Although we are also going to have words about you sneaking off without telling me. But he needs to know what will happen if he ever touches you again, baby.”
“Just words,” I say, meeting his eyes, needing him to confirm it.
He nods. “Just words.”
And with that, he turns away and heads for the man who’s still doubled over, clutching his hands to his groin as blood drips from the wound on his face.
“Hey,” Roman says as he approaches. “You mind telling me why you thought you could touch my wife?”
The guy stands, and I can see that his eye is okay. I must have missed it with my nails and caught the temple instead.
But the two of them stand staring at each other, and I see recognition on both faces.
What is going on?
“Motherfucker,” Roman mutters, breaking the silence. “You touched my wife, you fucking piece of shit. I hope you’re ready to live the rest of your life with a limp and an eye patch.”
The man stumbles back, but his features twist as he retreats. “And all the fucking pieces fall together. Casey Marshall and I signed a contract yesterday, and here’s Roman Marshall in the same fucking city. No fucking coincidence, right? Guessing he’s your brother? Colt said something about you being adopted, but it’s unfortunate for him that he got lumbered with you. That your sister with him? She’s got a fine ass, to be sure.”
Roman growls, and I can see the tension in his stance. But the other man must be either blind or stupid, because he doesn’t seem to cotton on to the danger he’s in right now.
“So you’re involved with that rodeo app, huh? Shame, I kind of liked it.” He chuckles. “I have to say, I’m so sorry about what happened at the finals. You know how much it cost me to have Colt’s teeth fixed after you were done with him?”
“You two know each other?” I’m walking back into the road, getting up next to Roman. “Who is he?”
But it’s the other guy that answers. “Name’s Buck Ryder, sweetheart. The Buck Ryder. Same Buck Ryder that ruined your little boyfriend’s rodeo career and is going to make sure this little BuckTrack app doesn’t see a shiny penny. And if you ever want to know what a real man can do for that sweet little cunt of yours, you just give me a—”
That’s as far as he gets before Roman’s punch lands.
Buck flies back, sprawling against the hood of a BMW that’s stopped to watch the commotion. He barely gets back on his feet before Roman is right there on him again.
“Motherfucker!” Roman growls, landing punch after punch.
I don’t know how long it is before I hear the sirens, but by the time the police are pulling my new husband off the man who touched me, I’m sitting in a puddle of my own tears, wondering how everything became such a mess so quickly.
11
Roman
“Marshall? You made bail.”
The booking officer doesn’t even wait for me before turning and walking away from the cell I’ve been locked in for the last ten hours. They questioned me, and I told them the fucking truth. I was defending my wife, and Buck Ryder, or Emmett fucking Smith, touched her first.
He can press fucking charges for all I care, because I’ll make him tell a whole fucking courtroom how an eighteen-year-old girl who’s five feet tall in heels gave him a voice an octave higher than it was yesterday.