I gasped, fighting the urge to close my eyes, to surrender.
“And I’m going to destroy you and fuck you back together until thisdisgusting, sick monsteris the only one you’ll hate to want,” he emphasized my name calling with a wink. Any other man and that little gesture would’ve seemed sexy, on him, it was downright charismatic.
Stiffening, I glared at him and pushed off his lap to stand. “You can see yourself out.” I walked out to his agonizingly sexy laugh, begging my body to ignore him.
thirty-seven
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
I could’ve easily let the fucker off with a warning but my body decided before my mind caught up. Anger detonated low and hot, drowning out everything except one simple truth:
He kissed her.
Ishika’s door hadn’t even clicked shut behind me before I was dialing Rahul. He got me the address in under ten seconds. I was there in less than five minutes, pounding on the fucker’s door until it opened with a frustrated grunt.
“What the hell–” His words cut off as recognition dawned. “How did you–”
I grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the wall behind him, kicking the door shut as I did.
“Please, man–”
My left fist connected with his cheek before the apology leaked. I didn’t aim, didn’t calculate, I hit him because my rage needed to feed. Another jerked his face the other way, spittle mixed with blood flew from his mouth as his face snapped to the side. He went down halfway, catching himself on the wall, gasping.
I hauled him back up. “You don’t get to touch her,” I snarled, ploughing a fist into his side. “You don’t get to put your filthy mouth on her like she’s yours.” Another slammed into his ribs.
“I didn’t know,” he choked. “It was a date.”
I laughed, a sharp, wicked sound. “Everyone knows, fucker,” I snarled, driving my knee into his stomach.
He folded with a sound that wasn’t quite human, retching, hands scrambling uselessly at my jacket. I shoved him down to the floor and followed, crouching over him.
“You think I care if she wanted it?” I grabbed his shirt front, slamming his head against the wooden floor. Not to knock him out but enough to make his world spin. “You think that makes it better.”
His eyes met mine, glassy, terrified.
“She already hates me,” I gritted, my breathing ragged. “And I fucking live for that. Still, you kissed her.” I lost what little control I had left, hitting him repeatedly, brutal fucking punches that reshaped his pretty boy face. “Look at me,” I growled when his head lolled. Grabbing his jaw, forced his half open eyes to find me. “You ever see her again, you run. You don’t wave, you don’t apologize, you don’t explain.”
I shoved him hard, so he sprawled out on the floor, coughing, shaking, hands coming up to protect his face far too late. “Please.”
“You don’t get to die tonight.” Chest heaving, I pushed myself to my feet, slowly, every muscle tight, every vein buzzing, the way it did before violence set in. “That’s a fucking gift,” my tone held a quiet menace.
Because death was easy. Death was mercy. I didn’t believe in mercy. My hand curled into a fist as her face rose uninvited in my mind’s eye. The way she looked at me. Not afraid, or obedient. Furious. Chin tipped up like she’d rather choke on steel than submit. I’d burn cities for that look.
“I’d kill,” I muttered. “For her anger. For that defiance.” It tasted wrong, admitting it.
Confessing something like that was handing someone a knife and pointing it to my ribs. So I stopped there, cut the thought clean and instead, all I saw was her arm.
Thatscar. Pale. Old. Branded.
My jaw locked. Someone had put their hands on her. Hurt her.Markedher.
The fury shifted. No longer about the kiss, but history carved into her skin. The pain she survived.
“And they’ll die,” I gritted. “Eventually. By my hands.”
I backed away one step. Then another. The rage burned itself out as fast as it had ignited, leaving behind something colder, heavier.
