“You wanna end up like your Pres?” I question, my brows arching.
“I’d rather die than give you anything.” His eyes are fixed, his jaw tight, and I’ll give him credit—his loyalty to his club is undeniable.
I lean in close. “I’ve got a fate worse than death for you,” I hiss, my body fighting every desire to end him right now.
“Do your fucking worst,” he spits, blood splattering my face.
I step forward and drive my boot hard between his legs.
The chair screeches across the concrete, skidding violently before tipping backwards. A groan rips out of him, strangled and raw, as the old wood splinters under the sudden force.
For a split second, it hangs there, then it gives. The chair collapses completely and he slams onto the floor. His head cracks against the concrete with a sickening thud that echoes around the basement walls.
“Fuck you!”
I stand over him and press my boot to his throat. It’d take minutes to end him, maybe less, but I don’t. I need him breathing. I need something to absorb all this rage clawing through me. His club were the last bastards stupid enough to touch what’s mine, so he’ll pay the price.
Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but he’s still smiling.Mocking me. He lifts his chin slowly, pushing against my boot like he’s daring me to press harder.Goading me.
“Do it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. I look down at him then snigger before releasing his neck and heading for the stairs. “You fucking chicken shit,” he shouts after me.
I turn to Rock. “Keep the fucker alive.”
I head up and go into my office, slamming the door behind me. I sit at my desk and pull out the bottle of whiskey from my top drawer. It’s been taunting me for days.
I stare at it for a few silent minutes, then I sigh heavily, unscrewing the lid and taking a large swig. But the burn does nothing to soothe my rage. If anything, it adds to it, fuelling the fire raging through me.
I’m angry with myself. I caused all this, and now, I don’t know how to fix it.
I scoff, eyeing the bottle. If I hadn’t lost myself in this, I would have seen clearly.
I growl. Hell was right.
I launch the bottle across the room, watching as it shatters against the filing cabinet. I fist my hair, holding my head in my hands.
What the fuck have I done?
ROCHELLE
I slip on my flats and make my way to the kitchen.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I came back, but it no longer feels like home. Drifter has tried to talk to me, but each time, his presence makes my skin crawl and I send him away.
My focus has to be on me and the baby now.
I’m standing by the coffee machine, staring into space and lost in my own head, when I sense him. The door opens a little harder from his force, his heavy boots thudding across the floor, and then his aftershave wafts my way.
The coffee machine beeps, indicating it’s finished, so I grab the sugar and add a spoon, ignoring him completely.
I feel his eyes burning into me as he opens the fridge to grab the milk. He places it on the counter for me.
“Should you be drinking coffee?” he asks quietly. I bring my eyes to his, and he immediately looks as if he regrets his words.
I pour some milk into my cup, then slide it across the counter back towards him. “I just mean . . . with the baby and all . . . is it safe?”
I sigh heavily. “You lost the right to question my choices when you slid your dick into another woman.” I keep my tone bored but calm. I don’t need another slanging match with him.
He takes the milk and places it back in the fridge. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You look beautiful today, by the way.”
