“I missed you,” Beckett said, wrapping his arms tightly around my body from behind.
I squirmed, trying to break free, but his pythons were constricting. He loosened them just enough so I could turn to face him.
“You’re drunk,” I accused, smelling it all over his breath and seeing the glazed look in his bloodshot eyes. Not to mention his eyes were bruised; someone had finally given him a dose of his own medicine.
“Like what your boyfriend did to me? See what kind of man you got? What the fuck are those?” Without removing his eyes from mine, he pointed his heavy arm at the roses.
My mouth wasn’t working and all I could do was open it and shake my head.
“You belong to me, Lex. Not some pussy fucking roses man,” he slurred. “You got flowers and I got eighteen stitches in the back of my head,” he spat angrily.
“Those flowers aren’t from him, Beckett. Please, go home and calm down. You’re worked up and I don’t want to fight.”
His slobbery mouth kissed my cheek and his broad chest pinned me against the door so I couldn’t move.
“You can’t tell me what I fucking need, because I need you. I’ll forgive your slutting around, but you tell that motherfucker you’re coming home with me,” he said against my cheek. “Pack up your shit; this game is over. I fucked one girl, big deal. I could have fucked a whole lot more if you want to know the truth. But you were always the one I wanted to come home to.”
My chest tightened and the heat made it difficult to breathe, as if I’d been running a marathon. Beckett had never behaved this way toward me and I was scared, but still unsure of his intentions. I thought I knew this man. He’d never once raised a hand to me or threatened my life if I left him. Those were the Lifetime movies I’d catch on the weekend and thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t with a psycho like that.
Beckett was barely lucid as his rough mouth moved across my jaw, whiskers scraping like sandpaper against my skin. His breath smelled of whiskey or something much stronger than the beers he usually preferred.
“Please,” I begged, pushing against his solid chest. “Just go home and sleep it off and I promise we’ll talk.”
But his lips began mashing against mine in another sloppy kiss and I turned my head again—my heart pounding wildly as he pressed even tighter against me.
“Stop,” I mumbled. I could feel my wolf pacing anxiously, but I shut her out because of fear.
Fear I would shift and lose control, and who knows what I’d do to him. My heart hammered against my chest so rapidly I could feel it in my throat.
“I can’t breathe, Beckett. Let’s not do this. We can sit down and talk it over,” I offered, trying to rationalize with him.
When he didn’t move, I got scared. Real scared. The kind of fear you only experience in moments when something is about to happen.
Something bad.
“You’re mine, Lex. Mine.” His hand slid up my shirt and gripped my side, short nails digging in deep.
“No, Beckett, stop!” I pushed against him and twisted the skin on his bicep.
His hand cupped the back of my neck and he stepped to the side. With brutal force, he threw me forward as hard as he could.
I flew across the dining table and shattered two vases, sending flowers and water all over the place.
“You like your flowers now, you bitch?”
A vase toppled onto the floor when I turned over. I was lying in a bed of soft rose petals and shards of glass, water soaking through the back of my shirt. Beckett yanked me by my hair and slammed my head against the table. Then he grabbed my ankles and tried to drag me to the floor. I kicked so wildly he stumbled backward when my foot struck him in the groin. I didn’t even think to scream; I was too busy fighting for my life.
I rolled off the table to run to the door when he swung me by the arm and I slammed against the corner of the wall. Pain sliced through my shoulder and I cried out.
The violence pouring out of him stunned me. Beckett seized my upper arms and shoved my back against the wall.
His voice broke when he kissed my cheek again. “You’re my girl, Lex. We go together. You put up with my shit, and I know we could have worked it out.”
Then he was crying against my face. Actual tears, and it made my legs tremble so fiercely that I came close to fainting.
Beckett had never once cried in my presence.
It wasn’t the kind of tears you shed for a love lost; it was a raw emotion I’d never seen in him before.
