Page 45 of Puck Your Charity

The peaceful atmosphere in the kitchen shatters.

Finn sets his empty mug on the counter. Taking two knots eased Olive's heat, but the encounter makes Finn's protective instincts lethal.

"I'll drive." Finn turns toward the mudroom. "I want to shatter his kneecaps with a tire iron."

"Stop." I drop my voice into a low, rumbling command.

Both of them freeze in their tracks. I push off the counter, letting my towering frame fill the space between them and the door.

"Nobody leaves this house." I look Finn in the eye. "You aren't going to the suburbs. Nobody is breaking any knees today."

Victor glares at me. "He attacked her, Malcolm. He cornered her in a kitchen and tried to force himself on her. He deserves to bleed."

"He deserves to die." I keep my tone flat and even. "But beating him to death in his own driveway guarantees three things. You catch a murder charge. You ruin our playoff run. And you leave Olive in this house by herself while we wait in a jail cell."

Finn flinches. The logic hits him hard. The thought of abandoning her crushes his violent urge.

I turn my attention to Lawrence. "We use our brains and resources. We don't act like feral animals. Lawrence, you have the deepest pockets and the most ruthless lawyers in the city on your payroll."

Lawrence drops his arms to his sides. A dark, predatory smirk curves his lips. He understands the assignment.

"I want him ruined." I issue the directive with cold precision. "I want his bank accounts frozen. I want his employer investigating him. I want a mountain of legal trouble burying him so deep he never sees the sun again. Find every unpaid parking ticket, every tax error, and every shred of dirt on his life. Bankrupt him. Make him suffer within the confines of the law."

Lawrence pulls his phone from his pocket. "Consider it done. He won't have a penny to his name by next Friday."

A loud, grinding noise echoes from the driveway. Air brakes hiss through the open kitchen window.

I look outside. A large white box truck parks on the asphalt next to our garage. Three men wearing matching blue work shirts step out of the cab.

"The movers. I'll handle this. You three hit the showers and get some rest. Keep your heads out of the suburbs."

I walk out the side door and meet the moving foreman on the driveway. He holds a clipboard and a pen.

"Mr. Walker." The foreman shakes my hand. "We emptied the storage unit like you requested. We have all the boxes and the furniture loaded in the back."

"Take it all to the east wing. Use the side entrance near the gardens. Keep your voices down. Don't drop anything. The woman who owns these boxes is sleeping, and I'll fire your entire crew on the spot if you wake her up."

The foreman nods, intimidated by the warning. He gestures for his crew to lowerthe ramp.

The moving truck pulled out of the driveway two hours ago. The crew was fast and kept their mouths shut. They stacked the boxes in the spare sitting room attached to the east wing suite, leaving the bedroom untouched.

I walk down the long corridor leading to the east wing. I carry a tray holding a plate of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and a tall glass of ice water. She needs food.

I expect to find her buried under the blankets, sleeping off the exhaustion as I turn the brass doorknob and push the heavy oak door open.

Olive wears one of Finn's oversized black t-shirts. The hem hangs down to her mid-thigh. Her dark bob sticks up in messy angles. She stands by the window, staring out at the trees, but she isn't really looking at anything. Her fingers twitch against her arms. She's wrapped in a tight self-embrace, as if she's trying to hold her own skin together. Her breathing sounds ragged and shallow.

The sweet scent of her apple pie turns sour, laced with raw panic.

I step into the room and set the tray on a small side table. I stay quiet, watching her.

"It hasn't even been twelve hours and I've already fucked two of you." Olive mutters, her voice vibrating with a mix of fury and self-loathing.

She turns away from the window, and I see the frantic energy in her eyes. She isn't looking for boxes to unpack; she's looking for an exit that isn't there. She paces to the corner of the room, her footsteps uneven.

"I spent my entire life building a wall." Her hands flying up to grip her hair. "I told myself I would never submit. I told myself I would fight it. But the second they walked in the room, I surrendered everything. I let them claim my body. I let themerase my independence. I don't even know who I am anymore. I lost control."

Tears spill over her eyelashes. She paces the length of the room, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.