AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now I’m flat-out fuming. “Stuck up? What on earth are you talking about?”
Max quickly works himself into a frenzy, his arms flailing all over the place. “He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else! Never speaking to anyone, turning his nose up at all of us! Fuck him for being such a dick.”
Don’t punch him.
I inhale deep, attempting to calm down enough to respond rationally instead of yelling. “Max, did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s like that for a reason?” I think of how tortured K looks sometimes and it makes me sad. I’ve spent hours wondering what happened to break such a strong man.
“Uh-uh. No way!” Max jumps to his feet, towering over me, still gesturing wildly. “He’s a fucking—”
I don’t hear the rest of Max’s tirade, because one of his flailing arms swings wide and he accidentally backhands me across the right side of my face. Stars explode behind my eyes and the hearing in my right ear fades in and out. His hand hit so hard I topple backward off the bench, landing on my shoulder.
Blistering white-hot pain shoots down my arm and I let out a cry.
“Oh my god, Britt! I’m sorry!” Max is kneeling beside me, hands hovering, unsure what to do.
I’m about to tell him to back off when a gust of air ripples over me and Max vanishes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” At first, my hearing is still wavering, so I don’t know who’s shouting. Dazed, I begin to sit up, using my good arm to push off the ground. Gabriel appears at my side, helping me back onto the bench.
“Sit here, meu filha. I need to stop K before he disqualifies himself.”
Max’s panicked voice rings clear. “I didn’t mean to—”
Bewildered, I glance around and my stomach clenches at the sight in front of me. Oh no. K is holding Max up off the ground by his shirt, thumping him against the concrete wall like a rag doll.
“I don’t give a shit what you meant, you sick fuck!” K roars.
Now I know why I didn’t recognize the voice. K is raising his voice. It’s so rare, most of these people have never even heard him speak, let alone shout loud enough to be heard by every hotel on the strip.
“I know what you are,” K hisses, his face less than six inches from Max’s pale visage. “Don’t go near her again.” He slams Max against the wall again. I flinch when his head bounces painfully off the painted cinder blocks. “Don’t ever touch her, don’t look at her, don’t fucking go near her.” His voice is chilling.
“Meu filho. Por favor, let go. You will be disqualificado.” Gabriel puts his hands over K’s, gently, but firmly, prying his fingers out of Max’s shirt.
I don’t notice who hands me an ice pack for my face. Numb, I simply take it and press it to the throbbing ache.
“I’ll have someone take you back to the hotel. You need to calm down.” Gabriel waits until K steps back from a wide-eyed Max. “Take Britt with you. She needs to rest for later. We have a press conference and dinner tonight.”
Gabriel turns to me, waving me over. I gather my notebook and purse one-handed, balancing the ice pack with the other. “Go to the hotel with Killer,” Gabriel instructs.
“But—” K frowns and takes a step toward Max, causing Max to scurry back in fear.
“No.” Gabriel’s voice is firm and final. “I will take care of this one.” He flicks his hand at Max. “Both of you leave, now.”
There is no arguing with Gabriel when he’s like this. The only option is to do as he says. I step forward and take K’s wrapped hand. “Come on, K. Let’s go.” I can see the raw fury in his eyes, the reluctance to leave without his pound of flesh. He is a fighter after all, but a good fighter must also be able to control his urges no matter the circumstances. I tug on his hand and he finally relents.
Ten minutes later, we’re dropped off in front of our hotel. The silence on the short ride was excruciating. I wanted to crawl into K’s lap and kiss him senseless for defending me, and then chastise him for endangering his career. The AFL and the Nevada Athletic Commission can and will suspend his license for bad behavior outside the cage.
We enter the crowded hotel elevator without saying a word. K dips his head, letting his hoodie cover half his face to hide from any AFL fans. When the elevator stops to let more people on, K grabs my waist, tugging me to his side possessively. My heart leaps into my throat and I have to hide a smile. He’s so close I can smell the seductive combination of sweat and man and K.
I squirm uncomfortably and catch him glancing at me from under his hood. His eyes land on my cheek and go cold, the silver turning the color of hard stone.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
/> He shakes his head but says nothing.
After an eternity and about five different stops to let other guests on and off, the elevator finally reaches our floor. K slides his arm from my waist, effortlessly finding my hand and entwining our fingers. The sweet gesture is so contradictory to the man I know, I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Come to my room.” His voice is rough, strained. Like he even has to ask. I’d do anything he wanted. Anything.
