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I’m about to follow up with a knee to the gut when he’s yanked back from me. Murph and Connor’s performance coach hold him while Dad steps in front of me with Olivier behind him for backup, stopping me from going back at the stupid cunt. But my hands are aching for destruction. My rage is fraying my vision red as the image of Rosie in the hospital bed pounds in my head. I can still feel the weight of her limp body in my arms.
“You fucked enough models,” he grinds out, pulling at the men restraining him.
“Stop,” Dad snaps at me, using his body as a wall to push me back when I try to round him. “Stop.”
“Get out of my way,” I growl back at him, gripping his shoulders so that he can’t stop me from getting past him this time as Connor bites out, “But you still had to fuck Nat.”
“Fuck off,” I bellow at the crowd that’s gathered around us. It doesn’t matter that a lot of the team are trying to push them away because the press is also here with their cameras and shocked expressions. Ready to add to their pile of shitty lies.
“Don’t make it worse,” Olivier says, stepping to the side, so that Connor is in plain sight, right in front of me.
“Guess you like the drama after all,” Connor scoffs, disgust coating his words and twisting his sneer.
“That’s enough,” Murph grates, releasing him and turning to the spectators. “Show’s over people!”
“When I’m done with that bitch, she’s going to wish she kept her legs shut.” I take a step toward Connor. It’s impossible to contain my anger while I try to control my seething breaths. “Where is she?”
“Shut up and get inside,” Murph orders, his voice low, leaving no room for argument. “Now!”
“Not until I know where she is.”
“Inside!”
“Where the fuck is she?” The torrid scream tears out of me. My sanity is holding on by a thread with the last twenty-four hours finally crashing down on me.
This could’ve been so much worse. I could’ve lost Rosie. My angel.
“Let’s finish this inside,” Dad murmurs beside me, trying to guide me up the ramp.
“You saw her. You saw what that vindictive cunt did to her. You saw—”
“Rosie’s okay now.” The soft, coaxing tone of his voice is the same as the day he was called to the hospital because Mom was too drunk to take me home after my stitches. “Son…”
“I almost lost her for nothing. Just…nothing.” The twist of my gut makes me feel sick. Hot. Cold. So fucking sick that I can hardly contain my insides as they burn with the madness of my wrath. “Your whore tried to poison my girl.”
“Connor, go inside,” Murph instructs him when he stands gaping at me.
“I’ll wreck this whole fucking place if I have to.” Pushing Murph out of the way, I lunge at Connor, grasping the collar of his polo shirt. It doesn’t matter how hard I shake him, the answers refuse to fall from him. “Where. Is. She?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Releasing him with a shove, I swing my fist. My entire body weight falls behind it, propelling me forward until I connect full force with his jaw. A loud crunch echoes through the hard huff of breath that pushes out of my lungs.
“Where is she?” I ask again and again, strike after strike with the hellish scorch of my lungs. “Where is she?”
The dark haze of my violent need engulfs me. I can’t see through it or past it. There’s only one thing I want and I won’t stop until I get it.
I don’t give a fuck how hard he hits back. It doesn’t matter who’s watching. The whispers are the least of my concerns.
“Stop! Stop, man…” Olivier and Dad grunt as they restrain me. “They’re calling security.”
“I don’t care!”
“Get him inside,” Murph snaps at the guys holding Connor. He waits for them to disappear inside before he focuses on me.
Dad releases his grip, handing me his handkerchief to staunch my bleeding nose. “Murph, it’s—”
“Get him out of here, Logan, before the team’s weekend gets completely fucked.”
