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“You might want to loosen up on his windpipe.” Kris, wearing nothing but a T-shirt that came to mid-thigh—and hopefully panties—stood a few feet away. “Just until you can get a name.”
Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen from Liam’s. The bruise that had been but a hint when they’d arrived was now the shade of ripe eggplant, puffy and pained. He wanted to drop the intruder to the floor and find her some ice.
Liam must have been blocking her view, because when he shifted, Kris’s eyes widened; her face paled, causing the bruise to flare a shiny black, like the skin of the monster beneath the moon.
“Marty?” she whispered.
Liam yanked away his hands. He figured the man would slide down the door and pool at his feet, which would give Liam a chance to find out just who in hell he was and why Kris knew him. Instead, the stranger’s eyes narrowed on Kris’s face, then his own flushed with fury.
“You bastard!” he announced, and punched Liam in the nose.
*
Kris cried out, rushing forward as blood spurted everywhere.
However, Liam didn’t react like most men who’d just met the business side of another man’s fist. Instead of clasping his hands to his gushing nose and howling, he wrapped them again around Marty’s throat.
“Liam.” Kris put her hand on his arm. “Let him go.”
“I think not,” Liam muttered.
“I know him. It’s all right.”
It wasn’t. Not really. But she didn’t want Liam to kill him, either.
At least not yet.
“Liam,” she said again, and at last he sighed, then let Marty go.
“Who the fuck is he?” Liam snarled at the same time Marty shouted, “He hit you?”
Kris lifted a hand to her cheek. Her fingers encountered skin long before she’d thought they would, and she winced. Her face was swollen, painful, and no doubt ugly as sin; no wonder Marty had gone ballistic.
“He didn’t hit me,” she said. “And even if he had, what is it to you? You walked out on me a long time ago.”
Liam stilled, cocking his head. “Dinnae tell me he is your husband or I may just kill him after all.”
Kris might have rolled her eyes at the statement, which would have sounded like it came straight out of an action movie if Liam hadn’t appeared to mean it.
Marty drew himself up until he and Liam nearly bumped chests. “You and what army?” Marty asked.
Now Kris did roll her eyes. “Can it,” she said. “He’d annihilate you.”
“I would,” Liam agreed, then reached out and shoved Marty into the door.
Kris jumped between them before they started wrestling like eight-year-olds. She put one hand on Liam’s chest, another on Marty’s. “Stop,” she ordered.
Marty blinked, staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost. Liam growled, but he stopped, at least for now.
“Liam, my brother, Marty. Marty, Liam Grant.”
The two men eyed each other warily.
“I ask again,” Liam murmured. “What are ye doin’ here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Marty looked Kris up and down. “If it weren’t so obvious that what you’ve been doing is her.”
This time Liam popped Marty in the nose. Then they both stood there and bled together. Maybe it would help them bond.
