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He waves his baseball bat at me, stumbles on a rug in the living room, and picks himself up. “What did you say to the father of your g-g-girlfriend?”
Stuttering now. What a fucking embarrassment. This douchebag has a wife, grown kids, and he’s here trying to kill his oldest. And failing.
“Don’t worry, Three,” I tell her without breaking eye contact with the tumbling drunk. “I’ll say it as many times as you’ll need to hear it. I will never leave you. This loser isn’t going to take me from you.”
While I talk, the rambling idiot trips over himself again and collapses to the floor.
Unfortunately for Prue and me, he doesn’t hit his head on one of the end tables or the edge of the couch. It would’ve ended this shit-show a lot faster.
Still, I can’t complain about the advantage he just gave me.
He’s down.
I prowl over to the front door, sidestepping Prue’s dad as he leans on one hand, trying to stand up, but he drops back to the floor. Loser.
I close the door, hoping Zeke’s shouting hasn’t alerted any of the neighbors on Prue’s floor. We don’t need an audience for what I’m about to do to him.
I might cut off a finger or an ear. Peel the skin off where his eyebrows are.
Maybe even feed it to him.
The murderous rage, the eagerness to dismember and torture—those feelings are unfamiliar to me as love had been right before I met Prue.
They’re there regardless.
A world without Prue isn’t a world worth living in.
She’s mine to protect. Mine to look after.Mine.
It’s crazy how I’ve survived forty years without knowing her. In retrospect, I hadn’t really slept before I saw her face at the end of each day. I hadn’t really tasted food before I shared my meals with her. I hadn’t fucked, made love, hadn’t fucking orgasmed.
My heart hadn’t thumped a single beat before it pulsed for her.
And now he’s threatening to steal the air I breathe from me and believe he can get away with it? Not in this lifetime.
I warned him.
Twice.
“Strike three, fucker.” I turn to him as I talk, a sinister smirk tugging at my lips. “You’re out, done and—”
My breath catches in my throat, my eyes scrambling to make sense of the scene unraveling in front of me.
It can’t be real. I blink a few times, squint my eyes, taking everything in.
Yeah, I’m not dreaming.
I bark out surprised laughter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Letting my woman take center stage.
“My mother’s address,” Prue seethes, crouched over him, her hair wild around her.
She’s naked and glorious, pinning her dad to the floor by leaning her knees on his arms.
And wielding a fourteen-inch knife, holding the tip to his chest.
Fucking stunning.
