Page 302 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Not Jules.

Not Jules.

And then finally… fucking finally… there he is.

In the lap of a man easily twenty years older than Lachlan, who has his arms around Jules’ waist while they make out together in a private cabana.

Rage unlike anything he’s felt since Sable Key burns in the pit of his stomach. Lachlan stares so long it catches the man’s attention, and he irritably breaks the kiss and looks at Lachlan as if to say, what?

Lachlan sets the tray down.

‘Julian.’

Jules tenses, but only for a moment before he goes liquid again, burying his face in the older man’s neck, laughing.

The laughter ripples through him in slurred waves.

‘Uh oh,’ he intones facetiously. ‘I’m in big trouble.’

‘Do you mind?’ the man demands imperiously of Lachlan.

‘Get your fucking hands off him before I break your neck,’ Lachlan warns, immune to fear, immune to reason.

‘How dare you—?’

‘Julian, we’re leaving. Get up right now.’

‘Mmm, no,’ Jules giggles, clinging tighter.

The man rubs a hand up and down his back. Lachlan is considering methods, outcomes. The lack of cameras is useful, but it’ll still be catastrophic should Penhalyx find out.

‘I wanna stay. Why don’t you go fuck Danya already?’

Lachlan grabs Jules by the shirt and drags him roughly off the man, knocking over the table and shattering glasses as he does.

‘Get off me!’ Jules bursts out, swinging wildly, slapping and hitting Lachlan. ‘Don’t fucking touch me!’

The bouncer comes running. ‘What part of low profile—?’

Lachlan elbows him in the face, drops him cold before he can radio anyone else. Several people emerge from their heated cabanas to see what’s going on, some skittering away downstairs.

Jules manages to land a pretty good smack against Lachlan’s left ear, and the man shoves Lachlan in the chest as if seeing an opportunity.

Lachlan punches him in the face, not just to knock him out.

He hits him over and over again, follows him down when he goes, blood on his fists, blood up his wrists, blood and bone and pain, so much pain. It should only ever go where it’s deserved, not to the people who are good, who are kind, who—

‘LACHLAN!’

Julian’s scream is so loud it makes his inner ears recoil, his arms slowing before stopping. Lachlan didn’t even realise he was straddling this fucker’s chest. His face is a bloody mess, but aside from his nose, nothing’s broken.

Lachlan shoves himself upright, shaking his left wrist.

‘We’re leaving.’

‘I’m not going with you,’ Jules says, voice trembling.

‘Then go with Danya. He’s downstairs.’