Page 36 of Freeing Denver

She blinks, her cheeks paling. “What?”

“Something is wrong. What is it?”

Wide, gray eyes stare up at me, her light brows pulled together. And she doesn’t have to say his name, because I know. I fuckingknow.

“What did Ranger do?”

“Nothing, Colt, he?—”

“Did he threaten you?”

He did. I know he did. He won’t have taken the divorce conversation lightly. I should never have let her go there alone, should never have let her face him without me at her side.

I see red. Pulses of deep crimson consume my vision, and Denver calls my name as I walk away. I’m driving. I’m trying to breathe. The pressure in my head increases.

My body begs me to stop.

But my mind is racing.

Images of Denver in Vince’s home. Of Ranger threatening her. Keeping her married to him, refusing to ever let go.

My brother. My father. Dead.

The city whips by. My phone is ringing. Five missed calls. Six. Seven.

I pull the car to a stop outside the hotel and leave it in the street, the door hanging open as I stride up the steps.

“Sir, you can’t just?—”

I seize the hotel employee by his uniform and drag him with me across the lobby. He yelps and shouts, and I shove him inside the elevator car.

“Penthouse.”

“Sir—”

I take my gun out and hold it to his temple. “Penthouse.”

He whimpers and nods, taking out a keycard and missing the slot three times before he finally slips the key in and presses the PH button. Adrenaline thumps through me, my head achingwith every floor we climb, but I know what will help. I know what will ease this agony spilling free.

“The moment you’re back in the lobby, call an ambulance,” I say. The employee trembles beside me, and the doors open. “He’s going to need it.”

I stride into the penthouse. Ranger is by the open balcony doors and turns, his phone against his ear. I don’t stop moving.

“Hello, Ranger.”

I throw my fist into his face.

His head snaps back and he drops his phone, the device clanging on the floor. His back hits the windows, and as blood pours over his lips, I seize his jaw and use my grip to lead him back onto the balcony.

“Not going to welcome me back?” I ask breathlessly.

He gains some kind of control and shoves my hand away, throwing a punch that misses.

My fist lands true again. If his nose wasn’t broken before, it is now.

I hit him again, and he roars, charging at me. His shoulder meets my stomach as he drives us both back, slamming his fist into my ribs. I grit my teeth against the onslaught of pain and bring my elbow into his spine.

He grunts and I grip his shoulders, shoving him back. He stumbles, his back hitting the glass balcony.