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A moment of hesitation, a sniff, a fresh rain of tears on my shoulder, my chest. I clutch her to me tighter, envelop her, as if I can shelter from the world with nothing more than my arms.
"I am."
"Who did this to you?"
"It's... It's... What are you going to do to him?"
"Teach him some respect. Tell me who did this, Dani."
Tell me who needs to die.
Through her tears, she recounts what happened at the dance after we separated: a pushy guy, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer when she turned him down for a dance, his vicious indignity escalating to insults, to calling her a bitch and a cunt, and finally, to shoving her. My hands tighten into fists at my sides, the urge to protect her from the world surging stronger.
"That's what happened," she finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You still haven't told me how you got that mark on your cheek."
I won't let her skate around this question. Someone did more than push her — someone struck her, someone must be punished.
She hesitates. Afraid.
But she's not the one who should be afraid. The person who should be afraid is the man who thought he could touch her and survive. That man is about to learn a fatal lesson.
"Dani," I prompt again. My voice is a mix of furious fire and delicate comfort. I want to shield her and then rain down hell on whoever dared to touch her.
"He did it."
"Describe him to me."
"It was the same man as at the bocce court..." Her voice fades, and I release her, heading to the door, my mind made up. "Owen, what are you going to do?"
My entire being is screaming for retribution; every part of me — the man, the Marine, the biker — ready for war.
"I'll deal with him," I growl.
"Owen, please!"
Danielle's plea reaches me as I storm towards the door, but her words can't penetrate the fury that's taken hold of me. No one hurts Danielle. Not while I breathe. Not while my heart beats. I'm out the door, a determined force of vengeance, driven by a fierce need to protect the woman who has unwittingly claimed my heart—and shattered my bonds of brotherhood in the process.
This is war.
Chapter Fifteen
Danielle
In the blink of an eye, Owen is a Marine unleashed, a biker on the warpath, and I am terrified.
Not of him, but of what he might do.
I've never seen him like this, a man on fire and ready to rain hell down on anyone who stands in his way.
My heart is like a hammer in my chest, crashing into my ribs, and it's all I can do to keep one foot in front of the other as I chase behind him, scrambling to think of some way to calm him down before he does something that can't be undone.
"Owen, please, stop."
My voice falls on deaf ears. He doesn't stop.
His fists clenched, his steps a march that carries him forward, down the steps of our villa and toward the door; we're moments away from the start of a war.
