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There’s that damn smirk again. I put down the drink, ready to punch this asshole into next week, when the front door opens and one of the bodyguards calls out. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”
Halifax jumps back, nearly falling on his ass in his haste to get away from me. Before I can blink, someone tears into the room and Halifax is being thrown against a row of floor to ceiling cabinets with an earsplitting crash.
My mouth falls open when I see who is holding Agent Asshole up by the lapels, growling in his face.
“Mitch?”
Mitch
The big man at the front door nods as I storm up the front walk of Gavin’s beach house. I recognize the man from on tour, thank god. Otherwise he might not let us into the house.
“Mr. Hale,” he nods.
“I need to talk to Gavin. I’m assuming he’s home since you’re here,” I say to the man.
“He is. The FBI arrived a little while ago. They’re inside with him now.”
My entire body coils up, tension vibrating through every nerve and muscle. I flinch when Sasha puts her hand on my back.
“Mitch. We’re here to talk,” she murmurs.
I don’t reply. My only thought is to get that twisted asshole Grant as far away from Gavin as possible.
“This is Sasha Knight,” I tell the guard. “She’s also FBI.”
Sasha helpfully produces her I.D. handing it to the large man. He inspects it, his sharp gaze matching the picture to Sasha’s face, then hands it back. “Go on in,” he says, turning the knob and pushing the door open.
The bodyguard leans in the foyer, calling out our arrival. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”
Across the length of Gavin’s open floor plan, I see Grant crowding Gavin against the countertop in the kitchen. My blood pressure rises to near explosive when he stumbles back as if caught doing something inappropriate. Which, in fact, he is.
Dark, primal instincts unfurl in my chest. The need to protect and fight for what’s mine roars through me like a feral animal needing to stake its claim.
Operating on reflexes, I sprint through the house and grab Grant by his jacket, slamming him against the nearest wall, which happens to be a pantry of some sort. The door behind him cracks like a thunderclap, splintering from the force of the blow.
“Mitch?” I can hear Gavin’s surprised voice, but my only focus is on keeping this predator away from the man I love.
Love? I shake my head, too enraged to think about that right now. “What the fuck were you just doing?” I snarl, literally bearing my teeth in anger.
“Hale?” Grant sputters. “You’re insane! Let me go!” He tries to twist out of my grasp, so I clamp a hand on his throat to hold him still.
His partner comes into the room and I hear Sasha trying to keep him out of the fray.
“You fucking piece of shit,” I hiss, my inner caveman rejoicing at the chance to defend Gavin and get payback for the years of torture Grant subjected me to. “Don’t go near him.”
Hatred bubbles up, burning my throat like bile. The urge to punch his smug face gnaws away at my lizard brain, refusing to be tamped down by reason.
“You’re fucked up, Hale. Just like you were at the bureau!” Grant laughs, but it’s a high-pitched, nervous laughter.
I pull my fist back, ready to break this fucker’s jaw.
“Mitch, stop.” Gavin is at my shoulder, his warm hands curled around my wrist, attempting to calm me down.
“Did he fuck with you?” I growl, glancing at Gavin over my shoulder.
God, he’s beautiful. The adrenaline, the loathing, the need for revenge, Gavin’s presence… they all combine into a high so perfect, so rooted in the deep part of my brain that still responds to my animalistic needs, that my cock begins to stiffen.
Van Zandt is becoming agitated where Sasha has him pinned in a corner of the kitchen. My gaze returns to Grant, his face red, a line of spit trailing from the corner of his mouth, and I see it. The man is shit-his-pants terrified of me. That cocksure attitude I used to find so attractive is gone, the façade peeled back to expose the manipulative coward that he is.
