Fingers bruising.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Roe
A yelp ripped from between my lips as instinct had me yanking against the hold instead of trying to do something productive. Find my pepper spray. Grab that hefty under-door lock. Call Milo.
But my fight only made his grip tighten, the pressure feeling like my bones were rubbing together.
“Who was it?” a familiar voice snarled.
“Frank?” I whimpered, turning to face him. The move made my arm twist between us, acting like a barrier between our too-close bodies.
But this wasn’t the Frank I knew. The one I knew how to charm, to handle, to carefully push away.
This was someone else entirely.
I thought I’d seen the man angry before.
It was nothing compared to the blotchy-faced, small-eyed, trembling man standing in front of me right then.
My pulse kicked.
Words formed and died on my tongue.
My gaze slid from side to side.
We were on the Boardwalk.
In public.
But it was too late.
There were no cars.
No drifting pedestrians.
It was just silence.
And him.
Standing too close.
Breathing too hard.
Squeezing too tight.
The pain had tears pricking my eyes, but I blinked them back.
“You’ve got some nerve.”
His voice was low, roughened by something I had never heard from him before.
Not irritation.
Not the slick arrogance he wore like a tailored suit.
This was something else entirely.
