Page 27 of Guilty as Sin

She spins toward me. With both hands, she pushes me hard in the chest. The sheer force of her anger surprises me, and I have to back up several steps.

“You asshole!” she screams.

Other people on the sidewalk pause to watch.

As I recover from her shove, Noah rushes forward to stand between us. The insolent fuck steps in front of my wife like he’s protecting her from me.

I clench my fist and swing. The satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. The sight of him crumpled to the ground. Out cold. Beautiful. I shake out my fingers.

Cora’s shouting at me. People start taking out their phones. But they already missed the good part. I point to a bystander who’s fumbling to get his phone upright.

“Take him to St. Lambert’s,” I tell him, and I toss him a banded roll of bills. It won’t be the first zygomatic bone they’ve repaired because of me.

My wife is crouched over another man’s body. Checking his pulse. Caring for him.

I grab her by the arm and pull her away from the scene.

“Let me fucking go.” She twists away from me.

I let her fucking go.

“Hey!” Another man shouts at us, at me in particular, ready to defend the gorgeous woman in the red dress.

I turn on him, my fist raised. Cora catches my arm.

“It’s fine,” she snaps at the man. Then she shoves me again in the chest before hurrying away.

I let her get a half block ahead. I see the moment she realizes her agitated walk is drawing strange looks. She drops her arms to the sides and unbunches her shoulders. A conscious transformation.

My tactical, gorgeous wife.

She’s still drawing looks, but now they’re for her in that dress.

I keep a tight leash on my temper. The maître d’ will text me the all-clear. Until then, I punch none of the men unashamedly checking out my wife.

She pretends not to notice any of their stares. Maintaining her cool stride, she turns abruptly into an alleyway. A risky decision for any woman to make.

I follow her around the corner. She’s still striding away from me, but she’s no longer cool and calm. She’s fucking radiating fury, her fists clenched, ranting to herself in a string of blasphemy.

So my Cora has a temper.

Just like me.

As she passes a dumpster, something on the ground catches her eye. Not breaking stride, she bends down, scoops it up, then spins to face me. From several yards away, I can see it’s a green beer bottle. She’s got a stranglehold on its neck, but she doesn’t seem to care about what she’s holding.

The fire in her eyes blazes directly at me.

She winds up like a goddamn windmill. And launches the bottle at my feet.

Chapter 12

Cora

Glass shatters on the asphalt, that glorious sound of my anger unleashed.

It stops Brady in his tracks, which was my intention. Tempting as it was, if I’d thrown the bottle at his head, he would’ve sidestepped it and kept following me. This way, we’re in a standoff, with a no-man’s-land of broken glass between us.

My chest heaves with righteous fury. The absolute fucking asshole. He set this whole thing up, he made the plans with Noah, he coordinated with the restaurant. Goddamnit, he even forced me to wear this noticeable dress.