“I warned you, Brielle. I gave you one last chance when I showed up at the bar last night, and you ignored me. You’re a stupid skank who thinks she’s too good for anyone else,” he says as if he’s trying to hurt my feelings, but he’s only fueling the fire in me, and one can only be so hot before exploding. “You’re nothing, Brielle. You should’ve paid your rent or let me in between those fucking legs, and you wouldn’t be all alone now. No friends. No family.” He tilts his head, a cold look, and a devious smile as he hits me with his final insult. “No... mom.”
I won’t lie, none of it hurt until he brought my mom into this. The second the words leave his mouth, I jump forward, wanting to do the same goddamn thing I did to his bitch-ass girlfriend, but before I can, arms wrap around my waist, and that’s when I remember Emris is still here. I fight against his hold, but he doesn’t budge.
“Look at me, Brielle.” I bring my elbow up and slam it into his stomach, but he only growls. When I don’t listen, he places me down away from the door, his eyes trained on the photo of me and my mom, crumpled in my hand. When he looks up at Chase, who’s standing with his arms crossed, Chase takes a step back. The look on Emris’s face is deadly, and I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of it.
10
EMRIS
I might bea bad fucking man, but I wouldn’t do what this piece of shit did to Brielle.
It’s only been a few hours since I met her, and she’s already pissed me off multiple times, but I’d never throw a parent’s death at them. I couldn’t see the look on Brielle’s face when the words left his mouth since her back was to me, but I could see her clenching her fists—fists I need to clean up as soon as we get back to my house because her hands look like they’re bleeding again.
I fish out my car keys, already knowing if I give them to her, it might be a mistake and she’ll probably leave, but I don’t care. Right now, I want this man to suffer.
Like he made Brielle suffer.
I hold my keys out for her, and she looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You’re hurt and bleeding. Go get in the car.” Her gaze drops to the keys, then lifts to my face again before she snatches them from my hand. She flips Chase off, and he takes a step after her but freezes when his eyes meet mine.
I hold his gaze until the car door slams shut before stalking up the porch. My fingers grip his throat, pushing him back untilwe enter his shitty apartment, and I kick the door closed behind me. His girlfriend scrambles away to the other side of the room as Chase’s back hits the wall. I keep my hand firmly on his throat, cutting off enough airflow to keep him conscious.
“Chase. Chase. Chase,” I tsk, his nails digging into the skin on my arm. “You picked the wrong fucking woman to mess with, you know that, right?” I ask, loving the way he fights against my grip. He attempts to nod, but it’s not good enough. I let him go, and he coughs, falling to the ground.
“Please, man! I swear I’ll apologize! Whatever you want!”
A menacing laugh leaves my lips, and he presses himself closer to the wall, as if trying to get farther away from me. Pulling a knife from my pocket, I flick it open and press the tip to my finger, watching as the front of Chase’s pants become wet.
God, I hate pussy-ass men.
“You really shouldn’t disrespect women, Chase.” I lower myself into a squat in front of him, the metal of my knife catching in the light as I move. “Because one day,” I say, watching his jaw tighten, “you’re going to mess with the wrong one, and her big bad boyfriend is going to deal with it for her.”
“Please, just—” he begins, but I’m not in the listening mood now. Instead, I bring the knife down to his thigh and stab him. His scream is so high pitched I almost cover my ears.
“Now, I’m going to let you live—but only because I have other things to attend to. Keep her name out of your mouth, and if I see you again, I won’t be so nice.”
I push to my feet and look around the apartment. Stale cigarette smoke clings to the walls, and the stains that litter the carpet make my stomach turn.
Fucking gross.
At least Brielle’s not stuck living here anymore. I step outside and realize I was right.
No car in sight. Doesn’t matter. There’s a tracker in each of my cars.
It’s only a matter of time before I find her.
“This girl is something else, man,”Carson says as we drive down the highway. I had to call him to come and pick me up after Brielle took off. She’s been driving for almost half an hour now, and she’ll need to stop for gas soon. The Jaguar was just under a quarter of a tank before she took it.
We keep a safe distance as we follow her, managing to catch up by pushing the speed limit a little too hard, but instead of stopping at a gas station, she gets off the ramp and exits onto a side road leading to a cemetery. I watch from inside the car as she parks and gets out, her head down and shoulders hunched.
“Stay here,” I tell Carson, and he nods, watching as Brielle walks toward a gravestone, which I can only assume is her mom’s. I close the door softly, and when I look back up, she’s on her knees, her head hung low. Part of me regrets not letting her go the second I realized she wasn’t the one we needed—but I can’t.
I won’t.
Her shoulders shake as she reaches for something in her pocket. I watch from a few feet away—wanting to give her some time and space as she unfolds the ruined photo of her and her mom before placing it down in front of the gravestone.
A few moments later, she stands and turns, not even acknowledging me. Her eyes look empty, like there’s no fightleft. She doesn’t even try to hide that she’s been crying, and for some reason, I fucking hate seeing her cry.
