I scowl and find a narrow corridor on the ground floor that’s markedstaff only. They must be somewhere in the back offices.
Just the thought of that little fucker being alone with Abigail in private makes white-hot rage pulse through my veins.
I remind myself that she won’t like it if I punch the gallery owner’s son in his entitled rich kid face. No matter how much I would enjoy smashing those pretentious glasses with my fists.
A low moan rolls from the back office, and I immediately know it’s hers. I live for that sound.
And she’s making it for another man.
My chest hollows out, and the ground shifts beneath my feet.
This can’t be real. She wouldn’t.
She gave herself to me.
The corridor blurs around me as I surge toward them. All of my muscles coil tight, ready to unleash my fury in a burst of violence.
I storm into the office, and my stomach drops at the sight of them together on the small couch.
She’s beneath him, her blouse unbuttoned. His hands are on her breasts, and his lips taste hers.
He’ll die for this. And Abigail…
I’ll think about her punishment later.
Because I can never hurt her. Never.
Back in her studio, I offered her the heart from my chest. She might as well have ripped it out with her bare hands.
I bellow at the agony of her betrayal.
Him.I focus onhim.He’ll suffer and scream before I end his miserable life.
He tears his lips from hers, and his brown eyes are wide behind his large glasses when he sees me surging toward him.
“Wait!” he gasps, but he’ll get no mercy from me.
I grab him by his shirt and yank him off of her before tossing him across the room like garbage. His filthy hands touched her. His taint mars her perfect skin.
He scrambles away from me, but there’s nowhere for him to go. I lash out, my boot connecting with his jaw. It shatters at the impact, and he screams. I stomp my heel down on the back of the hand that touched what’s mine. The fine bones crunch beneath my heel.
Before I can destroy his other hand, Abigail moans again.
In horror at my violence?
I stiffen. I shouldn’t be affected by her fear. She should be afraid of me.
I’m the monster out of her worst nightmares. I always have been.
“Dane…” My name is slow and oddly slurred.
I whirl to face her, panic spiking through my system. Did I injure her somehow when I tore that bastard off of her? Even in my rage, the thought makes my stomach lurch with a surge of nausea.
Her lovely eyes are unfocused and strangely dull. It’s inherentlywrong.She’s peering at me like she can’t quite see me.
She’s sprawled out on the couch exactly as she was when I stormed in. She hasn’t tried to cover herself. She hasn’t moved at all.
Her hand twitches toward me, and her soft whimper of distress shreds me.
