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I take a deep breath, frozen for a moment. The reality of what I’m about to do is heavy in my chest.

I’m about to ruin my whole life.

“You want to stay and watch? That’s going to cost you.” He laughs.

“I’m not staying to watch.”

“Then what? You had your fun. Go.”

“Not happening,” I counter. “I just need a fucking second.”

“For what?”

“To enjoy my last bit of freedom.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I’ve seen Wyatt punch someone, but I’ve never considered him violent before. Every touch of his has been gentle, soft, kind. Even when his words cut, there was a sense of kindness behind them. Like he dished out the hurt to heal, not kill.

His cock is a different story—but even then, the pain was worth the pleasure. Two mind-blowing orgasms that I would use to get me through the abuse. I’m holding onto the feeling of him inside me for as long as my mind will allow.

But to me, Wyatt has never seemed violent. Or so I thought.

I can’t see clearly. My eyes are full of tears, but Hendricks’s head jerks forward and a yelp of pain falls from his lips. I can only assume Wyatt hit him.

Within seconds, he is dropping to his knees with a thud. I just barely get my legs out of the way before he hits the ground.

His eyes go wide as he whimpers in pain. Wyatt reaches forward, pulling at his hair.

I wipe at my eyes, trying to make sense of the scene in front of me.

“I never thought I could kill a man, and maybe I won’t,” Wyatt says, tugging on Hendricks’s hair again, forcing him to look up at him. “But the night is still young. Maybe I’ll just leave you wishing you were dead.” He slams his head down against the floor. Then again. Then again. When he tugs it back up, blood drips down Hendrick’s forehead as he groans in pain.

I pull my legs against my chest, wishing I could close my eyes, but not wanting to at the same time. My mouth won’t move, despite the sudden urge that claws at my throat to get Wyatt to stop before he does something he can’t come back from.

“Ever tried sucking your own cock?” Wyatt asks. “I bet you have. Probably couldn’t though with your fat fucking gut in the way. Maybe with a little force I could make it happen. Should we try it?”

Hendricks tries to pry Wyatt’s hands from his scalp, but fails. Wyatt slams his head back down. Blood drips on the floor, and I feel sick to my stomach.

“I want you to know something. It’s very important you know this,” Wyatt speaks. It takes me a second to realize he is talking to me now. My eyes meet his as I nod. “I’m really sorry I didn’t do this sooner. And I’m sorry you have to see it, but I’m not sorry I’m doing it. Not for one second.”

I nod.

Wyatt pulls Hendricks by his hair, tossing him on his back. He kicks him in the side as Hendricks groans in pain. Wyatt’s eyes drift to me, searching for a reaction, but I couldn’t form one if I wanted to.

There is too much going on in my head right now. A mixture of emotions I can’t name.

Hendricks jerks, trying to escape the wrath that has become Wyatt. I, on the other hand, want to wrap myself around him. This is terrifying, yet…freeing. I wish I could record it, play it back later when I can safely make sense of it, but something about watching Wyatt hit the man who has caused me so much pain is hot.

Something is seriously wrong with me, but there is something seriously wrong with Wyatt, too.

He stops kicking Hendricks, taking a step towards me. Slowly, he stretches out his hand to me, and I grab it with little thought. As he pulls me to my feet, I glance down at Hendricks gasping and bleeding on the floor before looking back up at Wyatt.

His golden eyes still bring me comfort, and I hate that this might be the last time I see him.

“You need to get dressed, okay? And then you need to go. Tell Quinn to call the cops, sit on the bus, and don’t say a word, got it?”

I nod as he takes my face in his hands.