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“Can you help me out of this?”
She is gesturing towards her tank top, and I move forward.
I am much taller than her, and her head reaches my chest. As my fingers wrap around the hem of her top, I feel a stirring inside me at the intimate act, despite the situation. However, my flicker of lust dies at the sight of the large, mottling, purplish bruises spread out over her stomach.
I grow cold inside, my fury a living, breathing creature inside me.
I crouch down and lifting my hand, fingers light, I move them over her mottled skin, as if memorizing the shape and size of the bruising. Lifting my gaze to meet hers, my words are lethal as I show her a side of myself that very few know.
“I’m going to break each bone in his body, one by one, until he’s begging me to stop.”
My fingers whisper over her bare skin again, and I feel the way her stomach contracts under my touch. Her eyes are troubled.
Her voice shakes as she murmurs, “If you have time to make threats, you have time to bandage my wrist.”
I stand up and help her.
My eyes take in her bruised and battered form, and it shakes something in me to note that despite how badly she is hurt, it doesn’t faze her like it would a normal person.
At the sounds outside, I see the flash of fear in Charlotte’s eyes, and realize she isn’t as unaffected as she tries to show. I put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s just the boys. They were on my heels.”
She knows what I mean by that, but her form is still tense.
I unlock the door and then blink when it hits me that she is half naked, in just her bra and some pants. Picking up my coat, I walk over to her, and when she gives me a confused look, I gently hang the coat on her shoulders.
“I’m not done yet,” she protests, but quiets down when my jaw tenses.
“You’re naked. I’ll be damned if I let them see you like this.” She glowers at me before turning her head to the side, and my shoulders relax.
Ian and Fergus are the first ones to enter, Zayn right behind them.
The latter whistles.
“Looks like quite a fight. Hello, Charlotte.”
I see the way his eyes soften for the woman who is legally my wife, and I have to physically stop myself from bristling.
Zayn always had a soft spot for Charlotte, and right now, as he walks over to where we stand and examines the bruises on her stomach that the coat can’t hide, I see the flare of his nostrils, and the cold look in his eyes.
He glances at her.
“You were kicked?”
She nods, her voice faint now as she replies, “He wore some kind of weird boots. Very hard.”
“Get our best team on this,” I order Ian, fury vibrating through my body. I want to rip somebody apart. Ian simply nods, before taking out his phone and retreating to a corner of the bakery.
Fergus eyes the kitchen and winces.
“That looks bad.”
Charlotte’s bandaged wrist shakes in Zayn’s hand as he tests how tight the bandage is, and my friend throws me a quick look.
“Fergus, get somebody in to see the damage and handle this. Replace whatever has to be replaced. Just get it done.”
This anger inside me needs an outlet and my friends can sense it.
