I’ve never heard a voice like that. Low and destructive, like a mountain lion preparing to launch itself at an intruder.
When Harry stops rasping enough to look up at me, there’s such hate in his eyes it stalls my pulse.
“Get moving. Fuck off home,” Brady bites off.
“If you ever lay hands on me again,” Harry warns, “you’ll regret it. Fucking simp.”
Enough.
Enough. I can’t do this.
My hands shake as I fumble back inside, coming apart at the seams.
I slam the door behind me, not bothering to lock it, knowing I don’t need to when Brady is right outside like a bodyguard. But I need space.
I need a minute or two of distance tobreathe.
The violence splatters across my eyelids in glorious color.
The way Brady’s muscles rippled and his lip curled with dark promises.
The two men at war.
And the terrible promise in Harry’s eyes that this has only begun.
A sob rips free from me as I press my hands against my face with a terrible realization.
My buyout was supposed to close one chapter and open a new one.
Now, this isn’t even close to over.
What have I done?
XII
Working Dog
(Brady)
I’ll admit it.
I can be denser than a damn rock sometimes, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who fucked up here.
That guy was a catastrophe, and I’m not sorry.
I scattered his miserable ass so he’d stop growling in Lena’s face.
He had to go.
And if he wasn’t leaving when she told him, someone had to make him. Now he’s gone and the danger is over, so why is she coming apart?
I shut the door behind me and clasp her shoulders, urging her back inside and leading her to the sofa.
Her whole body shakes. Some trauma response.
Shit.
I’m no shrink, but is this a panic attack?
