Page 153

ANA

I tried to wrench my lips from Massimo, but he wouldn’t let go.

He held my face firm to his, his mouth wet and slippery as he pressed himself hard into me.

With a fierce cry, I punched him in his gut.

He detached with a painful grunt, doubling over as the air left his lungs.

I grabbed my crystal glass and threw my cocktail straight in his face, then followed with a resounding slap that echoed across the roof deck lounge.

Heads turned around the room, and patrons stared in silence while I glared down at his dripping face.

‘How dare you? I’m going to press charges for assault, you freak.’

That’s when I spotted movement near the entrance: a man hiding behind a generous plant stand, clicking a shutter in rapid succession.

‘The hell? A pap?’

Fury hit me hard.

I raced toward the structure and grabbed the Nikon body from the stranger’s grip.

He tried to pull the equipment back, but pure rage kept me from letting go.

It helped that he was shorter than me and thin as a whip.

I tore the side hatch of the housing open, finding the SD slot.

I popped the memory card out, flung the expensive camera back into the man’s hands.

I snapped the plastic device in two and slid the fragments into my blazer pocket.

The man shouted obscenities at me, but my internal roar was so overpowering I didn’t comprehend a single syllable.

I marched from the bar, heat-seeking Deacon, desperate to find refuge in his arms, walking away from the never-ending shitshow of my worst mistake.

I sprinted down the carpeted hallway of the hotel.

I hadn’t found Deacon in the lounge, so I headed to our suite, hoping he was there.

I burst through the door, my chest heaving with rage.

Relief hit me when I saw my man in his room, moving from his cupboard to the bed.

I stepped into his space, eager to get Deacon’s take on Massimo’s entitlement and assault.

‘D, honey, you won’t believe - .’

The words died in my throat.

Deacon ignored me, throwing clothes and his boots into his duffel bag.

Surprise shot through me as I scrambled to make sense of the scene.

‘Why are you packing?’ I asked, my pulse skipping. ‘We don’t leave for LA until late tomorrow.’

I got nada back.