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That cry momentarily short circuits my brain. Before I can formulate a plan, my hand is on the knob and I’m barging through the doorway.
I stop short as I enter a library. Near one section of the bookcase, Kozlov grips the girl by her upper arms, shaking her like a doll.
“You’re drunk. Let me go!” She struggles against him, terror distorting her pretty face.
Kozlov backhands her, sending her sprawling to the floor.
“This is what happens to sluts who wear red,” he says to her right before he notices my presence.
His eyes flick up to my face. But my attention is on the girl. Seeing her cowering on the floor like that, terrified and vulnerable, makes my blood run ice-cold. A crimson haze halos my vision. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s touching what’s mine. I don’t like other people touching my things.
I lunge at him, tearing him away from her, a snarl erupting from my throat. We’re both over six feet and muscular, but I seem to have superior strength tonight as I shove his entire body into a built-in bookcase with enough force that several tomes topple to the floor. My first smashes into his nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood splatters across my white shirt.
I don’t care. I don’t want to stop until his face is unrecognizable.
The Devil has given me this moment. The chances of catching Kozlov in an intoxicated state, and without his goons nearby, are slim to none. Yet here he is, too inebriated to properly fight back.
My knuckles split as I hit him again and again. Somewhere in the room a woman’s voice is shouting, but I pay her no mind. That is until she wedges herself between us, her face swimming into view, and my next swing freezes midair.
“Stop! You’re going to kill him.” At first her words don’t make sense. Kill who?
I blink, refocusing on the brutalized face in front of me. Kozlov. I don’t want him dead—not yet. Being beaten to death is too quick, too merciful of a punishment for him.
Fuck. I rarely lose control like this.
Stepping back, I take in a deep breath and count to three, as I watch Kozlov’s body slide to the floor. His chest rises and falls, indicating he remains alive, simply unconscious.
“Thank you for…for stopping him,” the girl says, claiming my attention. Her round, red-rimmed eyes look up at me with so much gratitude that my heart gallops. She’s so naive that I can practically smell it in the air around her. It’s the stench of innocence, of optimism and unshattered dreams.
I straighten to my full height and tug down on my tuxedo jacket to smooth it. If I’m going to see my plans through, there are some things she needs to know about me. The first being that I’m no savior.
“I didn’t do it for you.” My tone is edged with shards of ice.
She blinks a couple of times as her empty head tries to make sense of my meaning. I see the moment she understands. Her bright, open brown eyes dim, their inner light closed off to me.
The second that light is gone, I want it back.
Inwardly I shake myself out of that thought. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t give a shit about her, her eyes, or hurting her feelings.
She makes a move toward Kozlov, like she’s about to check on him, and I snap. “Don’t touch him.”
Her gaze darts to mine. “He needs a doctor.”
“Are you an idiot? Why do you care what he needs? He hit you.” I practically snarl at her, growing tired of her stupidity. How much of an airhead is she, caring about the man who physically assaulted her mere minutes ago?
Her eyes narrow on me, and her lips thin. I’m sure she’s holding back what she really wants to say to me. I can only imagine how banal her cutting remark would be.
“He’s drunk, he didn’t know what he was doing. Besides, he’s still my fiancé,” she mutters, glancing away.
I ignore how her words make my stomach twist into knots.No, I want to tell her,you don’t belong to him any longer.
There will be plenty of time to explain later. For now, I need to get her out of here. “Your father wants to see you in his office. Now. Go.”
She levels those angry chocolate brown eyes on me. “Nik’s bodyguards will kill you for what you’ve done to him, you know that right?” She moves toward the door, her fingers resting on the handle. So obedient.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She turns to face me. “I’m not being ridiculous. It’s a fact. Especially when I tell them what happened.” Her eyes flash with menace, right before she slips from the room, presumably to alert Kozlov’s goons. Though I doubt she’ll do it. She’s too sweet to throw a man like me to the wolves.
