The back of her neck is covered with a deep purple blemish, raised at the center, and flecks of purple so dark it could be damn near black in others, especially near the middle of it. My blood turns to a raging boil at the sight of it.
That wasn’t there last night.
I ball her hair in my fist and lift it over her head. “What the fuck is that?” I demand.
Trying to grab her hair and cover the angry purple splotch again, she says, “Eric, don’t. I already handled it.”
“Didhefucking do that to you?”
I can’t even feel my face, I’m so goddamn angry. No, not angry, that doesn’t even begin to touch it. I’mmurderous. I want to rip this guy’s skin off inch by fucking inch and feed it to him. My hand, still at her side, bites into her skin like a vise while I clench my jaw together.
“I handled it.”
“Is he dead?”
“No,” she gasps. “God, Eric, of course he’s not! I broke up with him. He’s out of my life.”
I pick her up, a little rougher than I mean to, and I set her off to sit on one side of me. “If he’s still alive, then you didn’t handle it,” I growl, bracing my hands on my knees and pushing myself to a standing position. “Keep your ass parked right here.” I move past the table, storming for the stairs that lead to the exit. I stop just before reaching the steps, turning to look at her. Even with the fear written across her face while she stares at me, she’s a work of fucking art. The thought of someone hurting her… “He put his fuckin’ hands on you, he’s a dead man.”
“Eric!” She shouts after me as I stalk down the steps, but I can’t hear her. The only thing I can hear is the sound of my heart pounding in my ears while it sends white-hot blood pumping through my veins.
I’ve never in my life been as pissed as I am right now. I take the stairs three at a time until I reach the main floor of the club, where I shove through the crowd of people, checking over my shoulder every now and again to make sure Sophia isn’t following me. She doesn’t need to see this.
•
Ethan Samuel Asher, sole resident of 2799 Hartmann Point.
Thirty-one years old, full time retail employee with two DUIs and a speeding ticket, but otherwise his record is squeaky clean. Travels to Malibu every summer with family for a surfing competition he has yet to win, but he acts like he takes first every time.
I memorized the fucker’s address when I looked him up. I had a bad feeling about him that day, and I shouldn’t have ignored it. I’ve never been wrong when I’ve had a bad feeling about someone. It’s like my superpower. I should have listened to it and flattened him right then and there.
Because I ignored my instinct, he was able to put his hands onmygirl.
I ignored my instinct, and she wound up hurt because of it.
His house is just far enough from the club to give me time to simmer in my rage, letting the fire stoke that’s burning hot under my skin. My teeth grind against each other in the heavy silence of my truck as I drive, until I pull up to the little single-story craftsman.
The driveway is empty as I pull up onto it, but the lights over the front door are on, so it’s possible that there’s someone home.
Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull my forty-five from its holster and slide the barrel of the gun into the back of my jeans before climbing out of my truck, slamming the door shut behind me.
The walk to the front door does nothing but fuel the flames of rage coursing through me, and it takes a great, concentrated effort to keep my cool until I get to the little mat at the door that says ‘go away.’ Don’t think I fucking will, actually.
“Ethan Asher!” I shout, pounding my fist hard against the door. “Open up, friend! Let’s have a chat!”
My foot taps impatiently on the ground for the painfully long moments until he finally opens the door, dressed in a loose-fitting tank top and a pair of jeans, wearing that same stupid slackjawed look on his face when he sees me.
“What areyoudoing here?”
The fist balled at my side - which I’m proud that I’ve managed to keep under control up until this point - rears back before flying at his face. My knuckles make contact with his nose with a crack as the bone breaks, sending his head flying backward. His hand clamps over his nose to stem the steady stream of blood now dripping down his face.
“What the fuck? You broke my nose!”
“Invite me in,” I order him, grabbing him hard by the back of the neck as I shove the two of us inside the house, “let’s talk.”
I kick the door shut hard behind us and haul him forward through the house, throwing him down onto his couch as we reach his living room. He scrambles to reach into his back pocket, pulling out his phone to – I assume – call the cops, and I calmly settle into the seat across from him.
“You could do that,” I shrug, “or you could save yourself the time. I have friends everywhere, man. And the places I don’t have friends are usually more than willin’ to take a check.” He freezes, so I continue. “I don’t know about you, but I was taught to never put my hands on a woman. It takes a real weak bastard to do that. So tell me, are you a weak bastard, Ethan, or do you just have a death wish? Judging by the bruise you left on my girl, I’m thinkin’ it’s the latter.”
