The second he reached for her and called her that vile name, I saw red.
Fuck, I should find him, pulverize his face with my fists, andthenput a bullet between his eyes.
Or through his dick.
That would be more gratifying.
When I entered the room, her shoulders were rigid, her mouth thin as a blade as she jerked away from him.
She handled herself well. Didn’t flinch under the asshole’s leering gaze. Probably been fending off guys like that for years, thanks to her father.
But that doesn’t diminish the dark rage spiraling in my chest.
How dare he lay his hands on her? Evenattemptto touch her?
And a guy who would brazenly attack Declan Gallagher’s daughter like that has definitely hurt other, more vulnerable women. Shout, as she called him, possesses no redeeming qualities. Even the air around him stinks of decay.
That man—a term I use lightly—couldn’t satisfy a blow-up doll.
The temptation to yank his belt right out of the loops and string him up by his ankles, cover his body in tiny slashes, and watch him bleed out drop by drop almost overpowers me. Or strap him down to a chair and crush his fingers in a vice, one by one, before moving on to the rest of his bones.
Castrate the sick fuck so he can never act on his perverse instincts again.
More than anything, I wish I could snatch the fear from Maeve’s eyes and bury it beneath the Pacific.
Acknowledging that desire is…dangerous. A fraying at the edges of my control.
I close the door with a quiet click and let silence calm the space.
After a few moments, she sighs softly. “Really, I’m fine.” Though she steadies her voice, the blood has yet to return to her face.
I approach her and touch her elbow, relieved when she doesn’t flinch away. “Sit down, Maeve. Breathe. I’ll get you some water.”
She sips the air in tiny gasps until her chest releases the fear. “There’s a mini fridge over there.”
Following her directions, I grab a small bottle of mineral water and crack the lid. “That guy was security, right? I thought I saw him this morning.”
She shudders around a gulp of water. “Technically, he works for my father.”
So he’s mafia, not hotel security. And not Maeve’s ex, thank fuck.
I ignore the little burst of vindication that flares in my chest.
Does Declan know that his men paw at his daughter like untrained dogs? If so, does he give a shit?
I glare at the floor and wait for the fury inside me to settle. “Should we reschedule?”
“No.” She squares her shoulders, and I can’t quell a flurry of admiration over her show of strength. “No, I’m okay. I’m good.”
She twists her chestnut locks into a messy bun at the back of her head. The next instant, she’s back to all work, no play.
That sexy bun, the way she shakes off an attack and returns to business like a pro… I’m not sure which trait I find more attractive. Desire blazes through me, and for several seconds, I gawk like I’m sixteen again and trying to muster up the nerve to ask Maddy Wilson to homecoming. Luckily, Maeve’s not paying me any attention.
She adjusts her computer chair and points across the room at a leather one near the bookcase. “Grab that and come sit.”
I take the opportunity to glance around her office. She showed me the door on our tour, but we never ventured inside.
Gray leather furniture and rich, colorful rugs. Tall bookcases, even taller windows, and blue walls that encourage relaxation and calm. Breezy, colorful artwork depicting ocean waves and sleepy beach towns. Every inch screams “Maeve.”
