Page 42 of Pretty Little Scars

Peter smirks and my stomach sinks, but I tip my chin up and meet his gaze head on.

“Or what?”

“I’m telling you to stop because I’m not interested in anything except for work. Plain and simple.”

His dark eyes roam over me, making me feel like I’m coated in oil and filth. I need to recalibrate my creep meter if it wasn’t going off the second I saw this asshole.

Tucker must have sensed it.

I can hear the side-by-side coming toward the barn, and relief rushes through me, but Peter must not hear it because he advances on me, manages to get his hands fisted in my shirt, and yanks it up while he tries to kiss me, but I jerk my face to the side, out of reach.

“Get yourfuckinghands off me!”

CHAPTER NINE

TUCKER

“Thanks for the lift back,” Scott says, staring down at his phone. His wife called a few minutes ago and said her water broke, and he’d better get his ass to the hospital. “Are you sure Alan will be okay with my horse?”

“It’s no problem,” I reply. “The horse will be fine. I’m glad I was there when she called so I could get you back to the barn faster.”

We’ve made it back in record time. I can see the barn now, and I can make out Darby’s figure just inside the door.

But I don’t like the way she’s holding her body. She looks defensive, and there’s no reason that my girl should be holding herself that way.

“Something’s not right,” Scott murmurs beside me, and I nod in agreement.

Something’s definitely not fucking right.

Suddenly, Peter’s there, with his hands on her, pulling up her shirt, and I see absolutely fuckingred.

I screech to a stop by the doors and yell to Scott, “Call 911!”

Darby’s back is to me, and her shirt is up, so I can see some of her scars, and that fuels my rage as I yank Peter off her and punch him so hard, he stumbles to the ground.

“Cops are on their way,” Scott says, but I ignore him and punch the asshole again.

And again.

“Tucker.”

Her sweet voice pushes through the anger, and her hands are on my shoulders, and it pulls me out of the red rage filling my vision enough to make me stop pummeling the asshole.

I knew I shouldn’t have left her with him.

“I’m fine. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t have time.”

I’m heaving as I stand and glare down at Peter, who’s holding his jaw and scowling up at me.

“If you move from that spot, I’ll break your fucking arm,” I growl at him before turning to Darby and framing her face in my hands. “Are you hurt, Duchess?”

“No. I’m not hurt. A little rattled, and a whole lot pissed off, but not hurt.”

I tug her into my arms and rub my hand up and down her back, turning so I can watch Peter, who’s still on the ground.

Sirens fill the air, and I turn to Scott, nodding at him.

“Go to your wife. Text me when the baby comes.”