Page 23

Krystal’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. For a second, she couldn’t even breathe. Then, she blurted out in a rush.

“No! I’m just a model for him.”

Realizing how stiff and unlike herself she sounded, she quickly softened her tone. Her voice dropped into the gentle, delicate, fragile husky whisper she’d been saving just for him these past two years.

“I needed money to support myself. So, I’m working as a bikini model for him.”

‘If he finds out I’m working as a bikini model, he’ll definitely keep his distance. No way he’ll risk his precious reputation for someone like me. Nothing drives this Cactus more insane than the thought of scandal messing with his image and business.’ She smirked, a sly glint in her eyes.

Darren, already suffering from being pinched half to death by her earlier, nodded quickly. “Yeah, she’s my bikini—”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting to her in disbelief. “Wait… bikini model?”

She shot him a glare so sharp it could slice steel. Darren’s face paled instantly, and he scrambled to fix his slip.

“Yeah—yes. Bikini model for me,” he repeated, forcing a laugh and pulling her a little closer. “She’s mine for tonight. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Without another word, he started to walk away with her.

Darren’s arm was yanked clean off her shoulder.

Lorenzo stormed forward like a hurricane. One hand pulled Krystal behind him protectively, the other cocked back—and then it flew.

Crack!

His fist landed square on Darren’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Get lost,” Lorenzo growled, finger shaking as he pointed down at Darren. “If you ever touch her again, or even breathe near her, I’ll make sure you disappear from this fucking earth.”

Krystal gasped, her heart leaping to her throat.

Darren tried to get up, but stumbled right back to the ground, groaning in pain. He had taken hits before, but none like this. Lorenzo’s punch had landed hard.

Lorenzo grabbed Krystal’s hand and stormed out of the bar, dragging her behind him as people moved aside in silence. She could barely keep up with his long, furious strides as he led her into the cool night air.

Outside, under the harsh glow of the streetlight, he kept walking until they reached his sleek black car parked across the street.

Krystal glanced at his hand gripping hers—tight, tense—and then up at his face. His jaw was set in stone, his eyes cold.

He didn’t even look at her.

He yanked open the passenger door and practically lifted her inside. He then pulled the seatbelt across her chest, and buckled it with a sharp click.

“You don’t have to do that kind of work,” he said, voice low and rough. His brows were drawn so tight they almost touched. “I’ll give you all the damn money you need. But you’re never going back to that job.”

He slammed the door shut and stalked around to the driver’s side.

Krystal sat there, stunned, her fingers tightening around the seatbelt. ‘What the hell is wrong with this man tonight?’ Her mind raced, confusion and frustration swirling. With a furrowed brow, she unbuckled the belt and climbed out.

“Lorenzo!” she called out.

He stopped instantly, turning halfway. He was just about to get into the car—but froze.

She had said his name. Not ‘baby’. Not the word she used to whisper with soft affection, gentle murmur. Just his name.

Cold. Distant. Stripped of every trace of warmth.

That alone nearly unhinged him.