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The drunk fuck from the other night.
He’s doing this because I kicked him out of the bar?
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to beat her,” the other says. The one holding me tightens his fist in my hair and I weakly try to lift my hands to his wrist.
“Should do a lot fucking worse,” he sneers. His shadowed face peers down at me, his fist in my hair ripping strands out.
“I wouldn’t.”
That voice.
I sob. I sob harder than I ever have in my life at the sound of Kiwi’s low, gravelly voice, his accent thicker than I’ve ever heard.
Both men whirl toward him, and the one holding me shoves me back down. I land on the ground with a hard thud, the pain in my body momentarily forgotten as I watch Kiwi stalk forward, a predator going after his prey.
Kiwi
I’ve never felt so much fear in my life, followed by indescribable rage. The way Kennedy sounded so fucking terrified, gutted me.
I prowl forward, flicking my eyes between the men who dared touch my woman. The one who had a fistful of her hair is watching me with a nasty sneer on his face.
I think I’ll take my time with him.
I pause when I get to them, shifting on my feet, anticipating their first move. When neither of them lunges for me, I swing. My fist connects with one of their faces, bone crunching at the impact. Blood pours from his nose as he brings his hands up to cup it, an agonized scream ripping from his throat.
I can’t linger on this fucker, not with his friend at my back. I punch him again, and again. His body goes stiff, then he falls back onto the floor with a heavy thud. I don’t think I killed him, just knocked him out.
I should have enough time to slaughter his friend before he wakes up.
“Your turn,” I say as I turn around, glaring at the man who’s still hovering over Kennedy. “You touched my girl.” He stammers something that I don’t listen to. I stalk toward him, trying to ignore Kennedy lying on the floor, her face bloody. “I’m going to take my time killing you.”
He steps back, his foot landing on her. She lets out a small, pained whimper and I see black.
“You motherfucker,” I snarl.
He trips over her body, landing on his ass. He tries scrambling back as I continue stalking toward him, my head low and eyes locked on him. I pause when I get to Kennedy. She stares up at the ceiling, her chest barely rising and falling.
I crouch down, sweeping her dark hair away from her bloody forehead, my gaze still on him.
“I’ll be with you in a second, love,” I murmur. Her eyes shift to me and a small breath leaves her parted mouth. I stop stroking her hair and stand.
I didn’t have time to grab my usual weapons. I have a knife on me, but my gun is on my bike, and the rest are at the clubhouse. I was waiting at her apartment for her.
I was going to fucking demand that she be with me. I wasn’t going to give her a choice anymore, and if I had to kidnap her and keep her locked up until she agreed, then I was fully prepared to do it.
After peeling Ginger’s nails off, I realized that she’s the only person I’ll ever want, the only one I’ll ever need, and I won’t let her go. A woman like her, a connection with someone, only comes around once in a lifetime, and I can’t give her up. I couldn’t calm down torturing him like I usually do because she’s the only one who can bring me comfort. Even if she is the most infuriatingly difficult and stubborn person I’ve ever met, I need her.
I love her.
I step over Kennedy’s body as I slide my knife from my pocket, flicking it open as I move toward the scurrying man. He flicks his eyes between me and my blade.
“Not so tough now, huh?” I ask. “It was real easy for you to fuck her up, but me?” I want a fight. I don’t want him to roll over and let me have this kill easily.
I want to fucking obliterate him.
“You’re a pussy, aren’t you? Only a fucking bitch would attack a poor, helpless woman.” His eyes flash and I know I’m getting to him.
“I’m not the bitch,” he says, his voice too low. My brows flick up.
