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“What the fuck?” he screamed as he crashed to the floor. He looked up, sneering as his gaze landed on Scott. “You.”
Behind him, Olivia scrambled to right her clothing. The fact she had to do so made Scott’s need for violence shoot off the charts. This man would die today.
By Scott’s hand.
And fuck the consequences.
Lance clambered to his feet. His dick hung soft between his thighs. He was a big guy, but Scott was bigger. And he knew dozens of ways to inflict pain or kill a man. But he didn’t have the patience for anything fancy.
“S-scott,” Olivia rasped from behind him as Lance yanked his pressed slacks up.
“Go outside, baby,” he said. He followed Lance’s every move. “Tracker will be there.”
Fury flared in Lance’s eyes at the pet name, and Scott loved it.
“Come with me,” she whispered. A soft hand landed on his back. Her touch was magic, siphoning out his need for blood. “Please.”
It almost worked. He was seconds from turning, gathering her in his arms, and leaving Lance for his club. But then the asshole snorted.
“Please,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “You got here too late to hear her saying that to me. ‘Please, Lance.’” He mimicked Olivia’s voice. “‘Fuck me, Lance. Tear me up with your cock, Lance.’ I was just giving the bitch what—”
Scott launched forward with a lightning-quick strike Lance never saw coming. His fist connected with Lance’s face in a satisfying crunch he’d play on repeat in his mind.
“Scott, no!” Olivia cried, but it was too late. The violence won. Scott was gone. Spec was gone. All that remained of the man she loved was the animal instinct to kill or be killed.
Lance crumbled to the ground, cradling his face. The man wasn’t a fighter. He shot his mouth off, threw his money around, and used his size to intimidate those weaker and smaller than he was, but he was fucking soft as a baby lamb.
Were Scott a better man, he’d leave it at that. He’d won. Lance wouldn’t hurt him. Couldn’t hurt him.
But it wasn’t enough. What Scott craved now was the man’s fear. His pain. His regret.
His blood.
He grabbed Lance by his starched collar holding his face at the perfect height to receive punch after punch. It wasn’t long before the pussy slumped. Scott released him, letting him flop to the ground.
He didn’t stop.
With one knee on Lance’s chest, he rained hell down on the man. Blow after blow connected with Lance’s face until Scott’s knuckles were so slick, they slid along Lance’s mangled face.
Behind him, Olivia’s weak cries of protest barely registered.
A pitiful groan came from Lance’s busted lips, making Scott smile. He stopped the barrage of fists and sat back on his heels, letting satisfaction flood his veins. Then, he pulled a long knife from the sheath on his belt with a wicked grin.
With an eerie calm, he leaned over Lance’s limp body. Who knew if the man could even see at this point? His eyes had blown up like two bubblegum bubbles. Scott pressed the tip of his blade to the left side of lance’s torso.
“Scott,” Olivia whispered, her voice thick with tears.
He leaned close to Lance’s fucked-up face. “Your spleen’s right under here. My knife’s plenty long enough to reach it. There’s no talking me out of it.”
“Oh shit. Fuck!” Tracker’s voice sounded through the hull of the plane.
“Any last words, motherfucker?” He dug the blade in, nicking the skin.
Lance moaned.
“Scott.”
“Liv, don’t!” Tracker yelled. “He’s too far gone. It’s too dangerous, sweetie.”
Clearly, she didn’t listen as her entire front pressed along Scott’s back. Her slim arms came around, grabbing onto his. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear as though they were home in bed, and she wasn’t trying to soothe a rabid beast. “I need you. Please come with me.”
The woman’s power over him should’ve terrified him. But instead, her soft weight at his back made the need to have her in his arms override his need for vengeance.
He lowered his arm and dropped his head.
Olivia stood, pulling him up by his waist. He spun and engulfed her in his arms. Christ, she was there. And warm. And alive.
But what had Lance’s assault done to her?
How far had the fucker gotten?
Over her head, he nodded at Tracker to let his brother know he was back and in control of himself.
Tracker winked then turned toward the exit. “I’ll call Curly. This is gonna be a fucking mess to sort out.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said into his chest.
“Shh. Not now, baby. Let’s get you home.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
Her destroyed voice hurt his heart. “Shh, Livy, save your voice.
She looked up at him with tearful eyes, shaking her head. “I’m—”
He kissed her to prevent another apology. When it ended, he rested his forehead on hers.
“Fucking scared me,” he whispered.
