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Xander’s eyes snap over my head, and the blood from my cheeks rushes down to my neck, a tangible sensation. “Ignore him, Xander. He’s nothing.”
Xander’s jaw works. “What did you say to her?”
“N-nothing,” Grayson stutters.
Chuck smirks, ready to stoke the flames below Xander’s bubbling resolve. “That we wanted to fill the dirty whore up with cum. Your little slut was going to sell herself but fucked you instead. And Gray definitely deserves to fuck that hole for all the cunt licking she’s received from him.”
Xander snarls below his trained gaze—the look promises Chuck pain. He takes my hand and places the gun into it. It’s harrowing. Slow motion. “Hold it up, Woman. Don’t let these arseholes anywhere near you.”
“I don’t want it,” I protest, terrified.
A blur of movement, the weight of the gun in my hand, and then Chuck and Xander are toe-toe in the bathroom, chest-to-chest. Two warriors facing off without rules. His eyes drive into Chuck’s, lost in the fire and anger. “If I pass out,” he says to me, his voice merciless. “Shoot them, Baby.”
God. Stop this!
Xander doesn’t wait this time, throwing his tight fist into Chuck’s brow. I cry out as Grayson punches Xander in the back, barely moving him. I remember when I thought Luca Butcher could feel every abrasion drawn onto Xander’s beautiful skin. Well, I can feel that hit in my heart, punching through the organ, mashing the soul we share in two.
I try to keep watch.
Knowing his true opponent is opposite him, Xander focuses on Chuck. I flinch when they start throwing head punches, both skilled fighters, ducking and dodging the incoming thrusts.
They circle each other.
Lunge.
My heart shuddered.
I lift the gun and point it at them. “Stop,” I beg, needing this to end before he takes another hit to the head. “Stop!Please, Baby.”
I try to reach him inside his rage, but he’s vanished within its dark, greedy depths. Their bodies become a blur of movements, of jabs and ducks, in front of my swimming eyes.
It’s so fast.
Then it’s not.
And the final hit happens in slow motion. Chuck’s face twists cruelly. He lowers his body to thrust upwards, to jab Xander from below and use his legs for power, but Xander must anticipate the move. He jerks his head to the side. Chuck’s fist coasts past Xander’s ear. Xander grabs the arm over his shoulder and snaps it with a gruesome crack. Quickly, he thrusts his elbow into Chuck’s mouth, caving in teeth.
The gun shakes in my grip.
A roar of pain drums inside the bathroom walls as Chuck drops to his knees, spilling blood like a fountain from his nose while he tries to hold his forearm that flops on his elbow socket. Bile rises in my throat.
Through wide eyes, I stare at Grayson as he falls to his brother’s knees. Uncertain of what to do, he tries to lift Chuck’s swinging forearm, like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey.
It’s revolting.
Fear gets the better of Grayson, and he bolts from the bathroom. Xander takes an aggressive step towards Chuck, carnage a promise painted in Chuck’s blood across his shirt, and reaches for the gun in my hand, retrieving it with ease.
“No!” I clutch at him. “Please, let’s just go. You can’t kill him here in the shopping centre, Xander. Think about this!”
Suddenly, a rush of men pushes into the restroom, making me shuffle to allow them space to fan out. They are all business; one talks into a wired earpiece: “We have them. People have seen. The shops are crowded… Yes, Boss.”
I watch in shock. The other two men grab Chuck with little empathy for his howls of pain at being manhandled, the bloody pendulous limb swaying.
“Leave before anyone sees a Butcher near this scene,” one of the men says to Xander, hinting at a connection. Familiarity in his tone.
One of Clay’s men?
Were they following us?
