I promised her.
Fucking promised her.
“I mean it!” he shouted. The tip of that gleaming blade dug deeper into the delicate flesh of Brinley’s throat.
A droplet of blood dripped from the wound.
“Everyone out of my fucking way, or she dies.”
Rage screamed, and my blood ran hot.
The group of my guys at the front wavered, never ones to stand down, before they split apart, unwilling to take the chance that he wouldn’t drive that knife deeper if they didn’t let him through.
The piece of shit grinned at me from over her shoulder.
Agony licked across my insides.
A howl of misery and determination.
“Drop the fucking knife,” I growled, swiveling a step farther into the room.
Dude was a fool for coming here like this.
A dead man walking.
No question, he was nothing but an expendable messenger.
Kent Ellison didn’t exactly have a reputation for cherishing the sanctity of life.
Which was why I couldn’t fucking wait to end his.
The lowlife in front of me paid no heed, just kept yanking Brinley backward toward the main door.
Every cell in my being writhed, the thirst for vengeance coating my tongue.
Brinley was stiff in his clutches, those eyes that were pinned on me a hurricane of desperation.
Pleading.
A stir of hate and obstinacy rolled through me, and I willed myself not to charge in their direction.
Instead trying to convey to her with my eyes that she was going to be okay.
I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
“Stop right there or you’re dead.” Violence was carved into my words.
He already was. The fuckwit had to know it.
But maybe he was stupid enough to think he was going to get away with this because he chuckled a low sound and pressed the knife deeper against her throat.
Blood trickled from the tiny gash.
I couldn’t fucking swallow, my pulse thundering, a fucking freight train of urgency that barreled through my veins.
“Nah. Don’t think so. I’m going to walk right out of here and you’re going to let me,” he sneered.
“And how do you suppose? You’re surrounded.” I said it casually. Like the result had already been exposed.
