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“I’ll be right back,” I told her, remembering to shoot her a reassuring smile before I left the table.

Not that she was looking at me.

I followed Spiker into the bathroom, my pulse steady but the rage simmering underneath as I clicked the lock closed on the door.

He was at the sink, adjusting his cufflinks. I glanced at the stalls, making sure we were alone before I came up behind him. He caught my reflection in the mirror, and his eyes widened.

“Logan York? Well I’ll be. Heck of a game the other night?—”

That was the last thing he said before I grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the mirror. The glass cracked with the impact, shards splintering across the sink as he let out a strangled grunt. Before he could react, I shoved him toward the nearest stall, his body crashing against the door.

“What the hell—” he cried in a garbled voice.

I didn’t answer. I kicked the stall door open and slammed him into the toilet, forcing his head down into the water with a sickening splash. He struggled, thrashing under my grip, but I kept him down, his hands slipping on the slick porcelain as he tried to push back. His muffled shouts echoed in the stall, but I didn’t let up.

“You made a mistake tonight, Spiker. Coming near what’s mine,” I growled as I lifted his head for a second, enjoying his gasping breaths before I forced his head deeper, his feet kicking uselessly against the floor.

He gurgled, trying to scream, but it only came out in choked gasps as water filled his mouth. I yanked him up by his hair, his face dripping and pale, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“You don’t get to touch her. You don’t even get tolookat her,” I hissed, my fingers tightening in his hair before slamming his head into the side of the stall again. His skull made a dull, wet thud as he cried out, his body slumping against the toilet.

“Fucking hell!” He coughed, blood running down his face now, mixing with the water. “You’re insane!”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I snapped, pulling him back up. His hand scrambled against my arm, trying to stop me, but I grabbed it, twisting it behind him. His scream ripped through the small space, sharp and desperate.

“Please,” he cried. “What do you want?”

I smiled darkly. “I already have everything I need. You’ve been skimming money from your partners. Offshore accounts. You’ve got some dirty little secrets, don’t you, Charles?”

His eyes widened, real fear creeping in. “I—what—how do you?—”

I slammed his hand into the toilet tank, the bone crunching under the pressure as he screamed again. “13948209. That’s your account in the Bahamas, right?”

His face went white as a sheet, blood pooling from his nose, his eyes wild with panic. “Fuck,” he moaned, clutching his broken hand to his chest. “How do you know about that?”

“I know everything.” I crouched down, gripping his hair again, pulling his face up to meet mine. “Now, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to forget Sloane. You’re going to pretend she doesn’t exist. If you ever talk to her again, or even think about her, I’ll make sure your little law buddies knowexactlywhat you’ve been doing. I’ll blow up your entire life, and you’ll be finished. Got it?”

He whimpered, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, I’ll—I’ll leave her alone. Please, just—stop.”

I let go of his hair, standing up and looking down at the pathetic mess of him crumpled on the bathroom floor. “You don’t get another warning. You come near her again, and you’ll lose more than your hand. I’ll take everything from you.”

He didn’t respond, just rocked back and forth on the floor, cradling his broken hand, his face twisted in pain and terror. I stepped over him, my jaw tight, my fists still clenched.

“And the same thing goes if you say anything about this to anyone. Clean yourself up and leave out the fire exit.”

“Okay. I promise. Please,” he cried, looking nothing like the smug asshole he’d been just minutes earlier.

I washed my hands and then walked out of the bathroom, the sounds of his whimpers fading behind me.

Sloane finally looked up at me when I got to the table…and then her eyes widened. “Are you all right? There’s blood on your shirt.”

Oops.

I glanced down and saw that some of Charles’s nasty blood had splattered onto my shirt. I’d have to burn it later.

“Just a hangnail,” I told her reassuringly, holding my finger up for a second before I quickly put it under the table so she couldn’t look closer. “Are you going to eat any more of that?” I nodded at the still-full bowl of dessert.

“I’m full,” she lied, biting down on her plump, red lipstick-stained lower lip. “But everything was delicious,” she quickly added, like she didn’t want me to think she was ungrateful.