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And then I saw it.
The single tear that escaped his eye. His skin was so bruised and swollen that it should have been hard to see that tiny droplet, but it was like a fucking beacon. And just like that, everything slid into place.
I pulled my hand from where it had been resting against Ash’s fingers and climbed to my feet. The nurse was still singing an equally confused Bomber’s praises when I stepped past her and hit him hard enough to send him sailing backward, the huge bouquet of ruby-red roses in his hand going flying. The nurse screamed as Bomber struggled to stay upright, but I ignored her.
I ignored everything.
Because the world ceased to exist.
Even Ash was gone in that moment.
It was just me and the man who’d stolen so much from the young man he’d claimed to love.
The fucker knew nothing of love.
The Ash he’d supposedly cherished hadn’t been real. He’d been a product of this man’s cruelty.
My Ash was real. The Ash lying in that hospital bed, too fucking broken to even cry, was real.
“What the fu—” Bomber screamed as blood began gushing from his nose, but that was all he got out before I slammed my fist into his face again. He stumbled into the curtain surrounding the treatment bay and used it to remain on his feet.
Until I kicked out the back of his knee. He screamed in pain and hit the floor.
But it wasn’t loud enough.
Or long enough.
I was out for blood… a lot of it.
As much blood as he’d made Ash spill in the last four years. Hell, even that wasn’t enough. Every word he’d flung at Ash, every punch he’d thrown, every meaningless apology he’d offered— I wanted his blood, his pain, his fear. I wanted him to know what it was like to not know what was coming— to not know when the blows would stop.
Or if they even would.
With that thought in mind, I grabbed him by the collar, hauled him to his feet and hit him again. Bomber threw a feeble punch, but it was just as I suspected.
The asshole only knew how to hit, not fight.
I decked him again and he hit the floor hard. Before I could pull him upright again, I was tackled by a big body. More weight pressed down on my back as people were screaming all around me. Within seconds, my arms were wrenched behind my back and I felt metal cuffs being secured around my wrists.
One of the police officers hovering over my back was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening to him.
Because my entire focus was on Ash.
At some point, he’d managed to climb out of the hospital bed, but he hadn’t made it far because he was currently on his knees next to the bed. The nurse was kneeling next to him, her arm around his shoulders. I could tell she was calling for help, but like the cops, I couldn’t hear her.
Ash’s stricken eyes held mine, but I had no idea what he was thinking. Despair went through me that maybe he was afraid of me after what I’d done to Bomber, no, Billy, but I wouldn’t take it back.
I couldn’t.
“Help him!” I called to the nurse, even as the cops began dragging me from the room. “Don’t let that sick fuck near him, do you hear me?” I shouted to the nurse. “Don’t let him near him!”
I struggled against the cops. “Wait, please, I need to make sure he’s okay!”
But the cops ignored me, and the last thing I saw as they pulled me away were several people surrounding Ash to help him back into the bed. I tried to catch Ash’s gaze one last time, but his eyes were closed.
And that, more than anything else, scared the ever-loving hell out of me.
Twenty-four fucking hours.
Twenty-four fucking hours of Ash being at that asshole’s mercy.
Twenty-four hours of me pacing the small confines of an overcrowded jail cell while Billy “Bomber” fucking Flynn weaved whatever story he wanted.
I’d been such a goddamned fool.
Despite the police officer’s order for me to remain seated, I got up and began pacing the length of the room I’d spent the past fifteen minutes in. For whatever reason, the cop hadn’t cuffed me, but I knew I wasn’t free to leave.
Jesus fucking Christ, how had I not seen it? How had I not made the connection sooner? I’d sensed something off about Ash in the time since he’d learned that Bomber was my client, but I’d figured it was just nerves relating to the newness of our relationship.
“Fuck,” I muttered as I slammed my fist against the wall.
It was at that moment that the door opened, but it wasn’t a cop standing in the doorway looking at me with a mix of confusion and outright anger.
