Page 63 of Shark’s Pride

She darted her tongue over her lips. “She’d been slapped by someone.”

Divine intervention—because that was the only feasible excuse—helped me keep my mien impassive. “Yes. Probably.”

“By…him?” she rasped.

“Probably.”

The air audibly snagged in her throat. “Did you…were you…aware of all this?” Her voice pitched higher, riddled with incredulity.

“Not about this specific incident.” I let her see more of my fury now—but not too much. I had to walk this precipice carefully because complete rage wasn’t going to help anyone here. Over a decade of dealing with Viktor Blake had taught me that lesson well. “But this is what I’ve been trying to get across to you. Well, one of the things. He’s a monster, Abbigail. He abuses women on a regular basis. He has a reputation across Southern California for it. He’s rarely seen with the same lady on his arm twice. He’s so hard on them, they don’t come back for seconds.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

“But why haven’t any of them come out? Spoken up?”

“Because fear and money are phenomenal motivators.”

Her face fell. Despite the vindication of watching her accept the truth, I hated being the one to cause her such distress. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

I steeled myself, preparing to issue the next question. “After you saw the woman with the bruise…what happened?”

She flashed a fresh wince. “I…went into his office. To deliver his food.”

“Christ.”

“And he was as cool as a coastal breeze.” She was clearly bewildered about the assertion. “You would think he was having an ordinary day at the office. I remember…being mollified by that. My logic literally wouldn’t let me put the facts together. If he had just physically accosted the woman I saw in the hall, it hadn’t affected him in any way. And that didn’t make sense.”

I sucked in a long breath. “Of course it didn’t.”

She drew back a little. “It’s so bizarre.”

“And that’s why I don’t want you anywhere near him,” I insisted. “He’s dangerous, baby. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The man’s a psychopath. There’s your ‘logical’ explanation. Did you ask him about it?” I couldn’t help but wonder. “About the woman who’d just left?”

If I knew Abbi at all, I knew she would never stand by and watch another woman—another human being—be mistreated and not say something in her defense.

“Of course I did.” She jerked her chin in righteous defense.

“And what lie did he tell you?”

She dropped her elbows to her knees and then her face into her palms. She slowly shook her head, though I couldn’t tell if she was denying me my answer or herself the whole truth.

“Abbigail.” I stabbed it harder into the air, intending to break her from her thoughts. “What did Blake say about the woman? About her injury?”

She lifted her face and looked at me with open regret. “He said she hit her face on a filing cabinet and got lost looking for the first aid office.”

“Christ Almighty.” I shook my head, knowing she felt like she’d personally slapped that woman. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why? Why on earth are you feeling sorry for me?”

“Because you had to witness that at all.”

“Well, I don’t deserve it. Any of your comfort. What about that woman? I—I should’ve done something. I knew, deep in my gut, that Viktor was lying. I knew he had probably just struck that woman. And that he’d done it so hard, she’d have a welt the next morning. And like a damn coward, I went in and set up the bastard’s lunch. I stood by and did nothing!”

Her agony gutted me all the way open. Without thought, I just reacted. I reclosed the distance between us and hauled her into my arms. Thankfully, she let me. She let me hold her, stroking a hand up and down her back. She didn’t fuss when her hair broke free completely from its bun and tangled with my fingertips. I sighed when she pressed her face into my chest, releasing another heavy breath while she snuggled into a comfortable spot.

“I’m seriously shit at this date-night concept,” I mused into our contented silence.