My teeth grind together. “You hurt her,” I say slowly, each word carved out of fury, “and I swear to God I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he cuts me off, leaning in so close that I can smell his pungent breath that’s soured with booze and arrogance. “Snarl at me? Cry? You’re already on your knees begging for a life that’s already mine.” His fists clench my shirt, the mood changing from a friendly challenge to murderous intent. “I bought her fair and square.”
That does it.
I move before the fear can catch up, swinging hard, fist connecting with his jaw in a solid crack that echoes through the bakery. Pain explodes up my arm, but it’s worth it. He stumbles back, mouth bleeding from the gums as he lets out a string of bilingual swears. Some I recognize. Some need translation. He’s swift, the gun firing before I can react.
Glass shatters somewhere behind me, and I duck out of instinct, grabbing the table edge as another round slams into the wall. Flour rains down like snow, coating everything in white chaos.
“Son of a—” he bellows, ready to fire another shot.
I lunge.
We collide in a brutal mess of limbs and rage. His elbow catches me in the side of the head, stars bursting across my vision, but I don’t stop. I drive him backward, forcing him into the shelving. Jars crash to the floor. A sack of sugar explodes like confetti.
He’s bigger than me and much stronger.
But I don’t care.
I slam my forearm against his throat, my grip unforgiving. He struggles against my hands, and the gun slips just enough for me to take control. My hand closes around the barrel and two of his fingers, twisting hard until something pops, and his agonizing scream fills the room as the gun clatters to the floor and skids across it.
We freeze, both of us staring at his piece, wondering who can get to it first.
He makes a move, but not before I have my own Glock out, pressing it against his throat until it’s battling his Adam’s apple for dominance.
“She’ll never belong to you,” I grit out, adrenaline pumping through me like gasoline. “She belongs to no one.”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he grits out. “You’re fucking with the wrong people.”
The door next door slams, and the bakery door swings open not long after. A furious Moseley comes rushing in with a very concerned Mindy following closely behind.
“What the hell is going on here!” Moseley bellows, taking in the scene as if he’s personally calculating all the damage in his head.
Mindy gasps, and I can’t tell if it’s from the mess or if she just got a glimpse of my face.
My mask! Where the fuck is my mask?
My heart drops straight into my stomach when she comes into view, the blood draining from her face in sheer terror.
My foe smiles through bloodied teeth; it slithers like a snake across his face. “It’s showtime, Frankenstein. Show that little bitch the monster you really are.”
I spin around as she inches towards me, shielding my face, mortified of what she’ll think if she sees the real me.
Her eyes flick to the shattered glass, taking in the ruined shelves, and the flour drifting through the air like fog rolling over a bog. Then they land on me. On my face.
Her gasp hits me like an arrow of precision; the pity in her eyes raking through me like bitter leaves of regret.
Time stops altogether.
She just stares at my scars—at the part of me that I keep hidden. She ogles them like she’s got tickets to a sideshow. “Step right up and see the monster of Fernley up close and personal.”
It feels too revealing. Too raw.
Fuck, every part of me wants to run for the hills and never look back, but I don’t. Not when these two men have plans for her that she doesn’t quite know about.
I have to protect her, even if she locks me in the dungeon forever.
“Now she sees you for what you really are. A monster. A beast,” he goads, his words slicing through my soul. “Do you honestly think she’d ever go for someone like you when there are men like me ready to own her?”
