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I say nothing as I shove the fabric between her lips. She gnashes at me and almost takes off part of my index finger.
Spitfire.
Warrior woman.
I’m going to get us out of this.
I read everything in her hateful gaze. It’s the absolute opposite of the expression she made in bed last night, falling asleep in my arms. That hint of openness so foreign that it took us both by surprise.
Good, I think, as the boss steps beside me, his face hard. On one hand it really is good because she’s going to need to learn to be more careful.
Except a large part of me hates to be the cause of such a fucking stupid lesson. She’s already been through too much already. We both have. When do people like us get a break?
When do we get our happily ever afters?
Never.
Except damn me because the brief time I’ve spent with Layla got me thinking about it. Hoping for it.
I’m too damned for that kind of deal, and this is only a reminder.
The best I can hope for is to find a way to get her out of this. Then she’ll be free of me. Free of the quagmire.
I’ll think about it all once I get her out of here. No matter how quickly Broderick might try to strike, I’ll be faster.
Horn-Rimmed stares at Layla like he’s trying to determine where to start on her. “I haven’t gotten to play in the field in a while,” he tells me. “Or watch you at work.”
“Which would you gentlemen prefer? To get in some hits of your own or to watch what other info she might share with the right persuasion?” I’m careful to keep my tone neutral, to keep any sort of inflection from showing.
But it helps that Broderick pays me no mind. His attention remains on Layla. It takes every ounce of self-control to remain standing in place when the boss smiles and approaches her. He drags his thumb along her lower lip, the shirt fabric tied tightly across the seam of her mouth. Right before he rears back and punches her square on the cheek.
I lose my breath.
The knot in my throat drops painfully down to my stomach as heat spreads along every portion of my being. The boss lands several more punches to her face and her gut. Layla says nothing but tears form at the corners of her eyes and she’s gone pale. He hit her hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and inside I’m roaring for him to stop.
Fighting the urge to run forward and throw up an arm to protect her.
The room grows smaller around me because that asshole has one hell of a force behind his fists. He’ll do some serious damage to her. He rears back several inches before slamming his knuckles into her stomach.
Layla lets out a wheezing exhale.
She wavers in the chair, slumping forward.
I have no choice but to keep watching, sick to my stomach in a way that violence has never made me before.
But it’s too dangerous a game to cave now. The most dangerous I’ve played and I’ve got to stay stoic. If we go too far…
It’s the small measure of relief I allow myself. If this goes too far, I’ll kill the boss and his lackey. It will mean my own death and I’m not sure if I can protect Layla once I go that route.
Broderick is fast. He slams again into the much smaller woman like a fucking truck.
I’ve never hated him before but I hate him now.
The boss finally stops and leans back, gathering some of Layla’s blood on his finger and smearing it against his own mouth. He’s out of breath, grinning like a fool.
“Your turn, Blackwell,” he tells me. “Show me what you’ve got. Why you’re paid the big bucks.”
Christ. Pushing aside every instinct telling me to gut him right here, I step in front of Layla. Not allowing her to see the apology she deserves before I punch her in the side. My knuckles dig into soft skin and ribs. I know I can’t hold back.
