Page 162 of Bittersweet


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“Lola is my fucking business. You got in my fucking business, hurtmy fucking woman!” My eyes quickly move to Lola, who is coming closer.

I might be falling for the woman, but even at this moment, she makes me unbearably angry.

“Run, Lola! Fucking run!” Johnny tries to kick me, to get me unsteady, and I tighten my grip on his neck. He has to be losing air.

“But, Ben—”

“FUCKING RUN! GET HELP!”

But does she do that?

Of course not.

I shake my head, knowing that’s a lost cause.

Instead, I move, kneeing Vitale in the balls where I hope I’ll cause permanent damage. A man like this should never procreate.

He loses his grip, the gun falling to the ground, and as it falls, I panic that something will happen—that it will go off, that Lola will be shot.

But it just skitters to the ground, and I tackle Vitale down as well, probably breaking a rib as I do, but that’s the least of what he deserves.

I flip him to his stomach, the hand in my grip pinned behind him as I grab the other, a knee in his back.

“Stay down!” I hear Lola’s voice shout, and there she is as I look up. My hand moves to Vitale’s greasy fucking hair to keep him down.

She’s standing, knees scraped, her dress askew and eyebrow bleeding, but fuck if she doesn’t look like some badass hot chick, standing there holding the gun in one hand.

The other is by her side, clearly in pain.

Fuck.

“Lola, what the fuck are you doing?” I ask, and a part of me wants to laugh, even if not a single moment of this is funny.

It’s just so fucking Lola, standing there, bleeding, a mess.

“I’m making sure he doesn’t leave.”

“I think I’ve got that part covered, babe.”

“I’m just helping.” Her hand moves out to her side like she’s frustrated with me. As always.

Only Lola would get pissy with me while holding a gun when I just fucking saved her life.

“Baby, put the gun down.”

“No fucking way! He might . . . get out!” Vitale’s head moves up and Lola’s eyes get wide. I slam it down to the concrete, and that seems to be the last strand—his body goes limp, out cold.

Necessary?

Probably not.

Satisfying?

Fuck yeah.

No one puts his hands on my girl.

No one.

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