"Touch me again," I said, voice low and sharp as a blade, "and I'll go public witheverything.I don't care who it takes down."
Silence dropped between us like ice.
Nate straightened. Smoothed his shirt. Laughed — but it was hollow. Bitter. His eyes had gone dark. Cold.
"You really want to play that game?"
"It's not a game. It's a boundary."
He stared at me. Calculating. Measuring how serious I was. How much leverage he still had.
His hands found my shoulders before I could react. Shoved me backward. My spine hit the wall hard enough that my teeth clacked together.
He leaned in. Close enough that I could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath ghosted hot across my face.
"Tell me how my dad fucked you." The words slithered out. Quiet. Venomous. "Tell me."
My hand cracked across his face before I could think. Palm stinging. The sound sharp and vicious in the empty room.
His head snapped to the side. When he looked back, something feral flickered behind his eyes.
He grabbed my arms. Slammed me against the wall again. Harder this time. My shoulder blades screamed protest against cold concrete.
"Youbitch?—"
A knock rattled the door.
"Anyone still in there?"
Calder.
Nate's grip tightened. His mouth curved into something ugly. Triumphant.
"Just trying to fuck my girlfriend, Dad," he called out. Voice bright. Casual. Like this was all some joke. "Want to watch? Maybe I can teach you a few things."
Rage flooded my veins. I ripped my hand free and swung for his face again.
He caught my wrist mid-air. Fingers bruising. Yanked me forward so hard I stumbled into his chest.
I hissed through my teeth. Pain shooting up my arm.
"Billie?" Calder's voice sharpened. Dropped an octave. "You okay?"
Nate's smile widened. He opened his mouth?—
The door exploded inward.
Wood splintered. The lock ripped clean from the frame. The door slammed against the interior wall with a crack that made me flinch.
Calder stood in the doorway. Shoulders heaving. Fists clenched. Eyes blazing with something I'd never seen before.
Not anger.
Murder.
He took in the scene in one sweep. Me pinned against the wall. Nate's hands still gripping my arms. The red mark blooming across Nate's cheek.
His gaze locked on his son.
