For a second, I can’t breathe. The room goes dead silent around me except for blood roaring violently in my ears.
“Who!”
Not a question. A fucking promise.
Her eyes immediately fill harder. “Hayden…”
“WHO!” The rage in my voice even scares her a little. I see it instantly.
“Brayden got angry after the gala.”
That's it.
I stand so fast the chair beside the vanity crashes onto the floor. Pure murderous rage detonates through me hard enough my hands shake.
I’m going to kill him. Not to threaten. Not to scare. FuckingKILL.
I head straight for the window, already seeing red.
Already imagining Brayden Augustine choking on his own blood while I cave his fucking face in.
But she grabs my wrist hard enough to stop me.
“Don’t,” she pleads, and I whip around.
“He put his hands on you,” I growl. “Do you expect me not to react to another man touching you?” I say, and her eyes cast down.
She knows.
She knows there is no stopping this.
“Please. Hayden,” she begs.
“That motherfucker touched your throat. He is the reason for your tears. No. I’m going to fucking kill him,” I growl, because all I can picture is her gasping for air while some rich entitled prick thinks he owns her body.
MINE.
Every brutal instinct inside me screams it.
MINE.
“I’m killing him tonight,” I say slowly.
“And then what?” she whispers. “You go back to prison? You disappear from me again?”
The words hit like a fucking brick to the face.
“You think I care?” I snap.
“I care!” she screams suddenly. “I just got you back!” she cries out. “I just got you back. I won’t survive if you leave again, Hayden,” she says, slamming her fists against my chest.
Silence crashes heavily between us afterward. My chest heaves while rage tears through me so hard I can hardly stand still.
“Please stay,” she whispers softly, and I shake my head.
“I can’t look at you right now without wanting to murder someone.”
“Look at me anyway.”
