I spin to face him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Elliot, and his eyes are wild with rage.
“Jensen, don’t. He’ll press charges and sue you if you leave a mark on him. Please, don’t,” I plead, grabbing his shirt.
He puts his hand over mine, squeezing briefly. “You’re right.”
I’m… right?
I was expecting more theatric–
My hair catches the wind as a high-performance machine darts past me, locking Elliot in a headlock.
“No!” I yell, but it doesn’t matter. Hayes has him on his knees in an instant.
“Apologize.”
Elliot grunts, unable to use his throat.
“Come on, you were so loud before. Apologize to her,” he demands, and his bicep grows as he deepens his hold.
“Hayes, stop.”
He looks at me, but his eyes are cold, now. Detached. “He called you a bitch, Olive.” His voice is so low and menacing. I hardly recognize it.
“You promised.” I look at him with pleading eyes. He can’t go to jail again.
A seconds-long standoff takes place as he stares into my distress-filled eyes, begging him not to do this.
Finally, his arm loosens, and Elliot falls to a pile at his feet. Relief fills me when I don’t have even the slightest urge to check on the man who ended up being the biggest slime-ball on the planet.
“That shouldn’t leave a mark,” Hayes says easily, standing over his body as if he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. But his chest heaves with his need to cause pain, and the veins in his forearms are prominent and angry, straining as he clenches his fists.
As a non-advocate for violence… He’s a man who makes it look too damn appealing.
“Now what?” My palms slap my sides. Elliot is passed out on my floor, and there’s no protocol in law school for how to handle this.
“Do you want to tie him up and go feed him to the bears?” I ask, and Hayes shrugs. “No.” I look at him pointedly and rub my hand across my face in exasperation.
When I open my eyes, Elliot’s body is gone, and Hayes is dragging him halfway out the back door. “What are you doing?” I squeal, running after him.
Is he going to toss him into the woods?
Bury him in my backyard?
I skid to a stop on my patio as he picks up Elliot’s limp body and dumps him into the ice bath. He goes under for only a second before he pops back up, gasping for air.
Hayes is there, yanking his head back by the roots. “Apologize,” he grits through his teeth, inches from his face.
“III- I’m sss-ssorry, Livvy.” Hayes dunks his head under the ice water again.
“Don’t fucking call her that. Don’t say her name ever again. Don’t come back. Ever. Again,” he threatens.
Elliot nods, and Hayes yanks him out of the tub, letting him drop onto the concrete stones. “Get the fuck out of here, prick.”
“Can I at least have a towel?” He begs pathetically.
“You could have given me an STD… But you want a towel?” I ask him with narrowed eyes. “Go ask the wedding planner for a towel.”
He climbs to his feet, shivering like a fool. “You’re going to regret this,” he mumbles, and Hayes steps towards him until I hold up my hand.
