Now it felt like if I didn’t take the wall down right this second, everything whirling inside would suck me into a black hole.
Roughly putting on a hard hat I’d found discarded in the shell of my B and B, I picked up the sledgehammer, surprised by the weight. Back in New York, I’d gone to the gym every other day. There was no gym on Leth Sholas, but I was a mere ferry ride to some of the best hiking trails in the country.
Still, I felt the weight of that sledgehammer in a way I wouldn’t have felt eight months ago. It was a good kind of heavy, though. The kind of ache I needed as I bashed the flat end of the tool into the wall with a forward motion rather than a swing. The impact juddered up my arms, satisfying my writhing rage. Mindless, I thrust the hammer again, watching the plaster work crumble and the brick beneath loosen, the dust irritating my eyes and throat.
But I didn’t care.
Sweat dampened my neck and underarms and my muscles ached as I expelled my burning wrath with each destructive blow. Suddenly, there was a gaping hole in the middle of the wall. But I wanted it all gone. Gone, gone, go?—
A large hand wrapped around the sledgehammer, and it was suddenly yanked from my grip with such force, I stumbled backward.
Wiping the sweat and dust out of my eyes, I stared directly into a wide, muscular chest. My gaze moved upward and locked with Ramsay McRae’s. His pale eyes burned with anger and his knuckles were white around the sledgehammer I’d just wielded like a therapy tool.
My heart raced and I was a little out of breath. I could feel the ache in my shoulders and upper arms and knew I’d pay for it in the morning.
But it was worth it.
“What the fuck?” Ramsay bit out, his fury palpable.
Suddenly uneasy, I took a step back. “What are you doing here?”
“I left a tool I need, and it’s a bloody good thing I came to get it. Are you trying to bring this building down on top of you, woman?”
Confused, I looked at the wall that now had a hole in the middle of it. “Quinn braced it. He was going to let me do this in the morning, anyway, so I don’t see what the problem is.”
My attitude seemed to enrage Ramsay even more. “The problem is you are unqualified to take down a supporting wall. Propped braces can move, which they have done.” He pointed the sledgehammer at one of the steel braces. “You need a professional on hand throughout the whole process to make sure everyone is safe.” He stepped into my personal space, looming over me. “You don’t fucking whack at it like a demented banshee with no one else in the fucking building!”
“Stop yelling at me!” I shouted, my nerves snapping. The wall wasn’t enough. I wanted to claw and scream and tear something apart.
“You need a good yelling at if it’ll save your bloody life!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuckyou!”
Somehow we’d moved closer to one another, a mere inch of air separating us. Heat and frustration emanated between us, drawing us together inexplicably. Something flared in Ramsay’s eyes and my breath caught as his head bent toward mine. My body bowed like a magnet, ready and willing to take on the invitation, to take out my anger on his body.
But just as suddenly, he jerked away, blinking rapidly like he was taken aback by his own actions. He glared like it was my fault. “You’re leaving and I’m not leaving until you’re out of here. I’ll fix the supports.”
Now mad at him for two reasons, I ripped off my hard hat and dropped it at my feet. Seething, I stormed past him, throwing over my shoulder, “Remember who the boss is, McRae.”
“Aye?”
Something in his mocking tone had me whipping around. “I’m the one paying the wages here.”
His dark, brooding look caused a deep, low flip in my belly I absolutely resented. “You might pay the wages … but that doesn’t mean you’re my boss.”
“That’s kind of how it works.”
“Don’t tempt me to teach you thatnobodyis my boss, Silver.”
I shivered at the heated threat. “Whatever. Make sure you lock up when you leave.”
“Will do. And there are healthier, more productive ways to channel the rage you have inside you.”
I scoffed. “Mr. Monosyllabic is suddenly Mr. Perceptive, full of advice?”
Ramsay gave me an annoyed look that made me feel like a five-year-old. “I have thirteen years on you, woman. More if you count the multiple lives I’ve led. I know rage when I see it. I know when it’s gotten to a point where you either let it eat you alive … or you find a way to master it.”
