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He looks to be about her age, and if I were a better man, I would turn around, climb back onto my bike, and ride the fuck away. I would let her be with this boy and settle down somewhere in town, make babies, and live happily ever after.
I’m not a better man.
In fact, I’m seconds away from beating the fuck out of this stranger because he’s standing just a little too close to my woman. And even though I haven’t fucked her in a week, she’s definitely mine. I haven’t released her of that yet.
And I never will.
Not fucking ever.
Moving toward them, I watch as he turns to face her. She tilts her head backward to look up at him. They’re talking, but I have no idea what they’re saying, and I can’t tell shit by their body language other than the fact that they’re standing way too fucking close together.
Standing in front of them, the blood rushing through my ears, I watch and I wait for them to end their conversation and acknowledge my presence. I cross my arms over my chest, press my lips together, and glower at them.
Slowly, Shawn turns toward me. Her eyes widen at the sight of me, then she has the fucking nerve to narrow those pretty green eyes in anger. I match her glare with one of my own, waiting for her to speak, but it’s not her who says something first.
It’s him.
Whoever the fuck he is.
“She’s all sold out of cupcakes. Sorry, partner.”
My hackles rise at the word partner. Not just the word, though, the fucking tone of it. Leaning forward slightly, I keep my arms crossed over my chest, my gaze focused on this asshole and nobody else.
“Partner, I can get a cupcake any goddamn time I want. What I’m wondering is why the fuck you’re standing right here, this close to my woman.”
His eyes widen, but only for a split second, then he smirks, and I’m seconds away from knocking that smirk off his face.
He swings his head to Shawn, then back to me. “Your woman? You know she’s a fucking person, right? You don’t own her. And if she’s yours, then why the fuck did she call me to help her this morning?”
I fight the urge to flick my gaze to Shawn to gauge her reaction to this or question her. I’ll do that soon enough, but it can’t be here. It can only be in bed, where I’ll draw the answers out of her by denying her what she wants most—me.
“Not your fucking concern,” I grind out.
“Yeah, it is. Since I picked her up, loaded this shit, and unloaded it. I looked into her sad fucking eyes and knew you fucked up.”
Instead of dignifying that with an answer, I extend my arm, curl my fingers in his plaid button-down shirt, and pull him over the table so his face is close to mine—inches away—and only then do I speak.
“You don’t know fuck about fuck, little man. So I suggest you go back to Daddy’s farm and forget about this, forget that Shawn exists. Just fucking fade the fuck away,” I growl.
A moment of silence ensues, and I swear to fuck, this guy is probably pissing himself. Because I hear a whimper roll up through his throat before he decides to be brave and murmur some shit that he has no goddamn business saying to me.
“No,” he bites. “I’ve known Shawn since we were kids. I’m not going anywhere. I have her back, always.”
I want to hit him.
Right in the fucking face, I want to beat the absolute shit out of him, but I decide against it. This is Shawn’s business. This is her life here. I can’t do that. But what I can do is threaten this fucker within an inch of his life to leave her the fuck alone.
“Stay away from her, and I won’t kill you,” I hiss.
Releasing him, I take a step backward, my gaze flicking to Shawn. “We need to talk,” I bark.
She narrows her gaze on me. “We really do,” she snaps back, and I can’t help but smile at her tenacity. Fuck me, but I missed her this week.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
KING
