Page 74 of Held-

I try to wrench my arm away. “Let go of me.”

“Did it feel good to debase yourself? To let that piece of garbage touch you?” His grip tightens. “Did you think about me while he was inside you?”

“Not even once,” I say as I grit my teeth. “And he's twice the man you'll ever be.”

Something unsettling flickers across Ethan’s face. For a moment, I think he might actually hit me. Instead, he drags me closer, his face inches from mine

“You think he actually cares?” he spits. “Men like that don’t care about anything but what’s between a woman’s legs.”

“Likeyoucared so much?” I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Let me go, Ethan. Now.”

“Or what?” His mouth twists into a cruel smile. “You’ll call your biker boyfriend? Have him beat me up? You are my fucking wife, and I will do with you what I wish.”

I shove at his chest with both hands. “Stop it! I’m not your wife anymore!”

His expression turns sharper as he grabs my other wrist, pinning both arms to the sink.

“Come on, Cece. Don’t pretend you don’t miss me sometimes.”

“We could try again,” he murmurs, leaning closer, crowding me back against the cold porcelain. “I’d take you back. I know what you need.”

Revulsion ripples through my spine. “Don’t touch me.”

I twist my head away, but he follows the movement, his lips scraping too close to my ear. His free hand drifts lower, hovering at my hip, lingering there with ugly intent.

“You remember how it was,” he says softly. “You used to like it when you couldn’t fight me.”

My stomach churns. “Ethan, stop.”

He laughs under his breath, low and eager, the sound of a man who thinks he has already won. His fingers tighten on my hip, pressing me harder into the sink, and the look in his eyes shifts into something cold and hungry—something that tells me exactly what he came in here planning to do.

My pulse spikes with panic.

“Let me go,” I whisper, voice breaking.

He smiles, slow and cruel. “Why would I? We still have unfinished business.”

His body traps mine against the porcelain, his eyes taking on a hunger that has nothing to do with affection.

“Ethan, stop,” I rasp.

He doesn’t. He leans in, closing that last inch of space, lips brushing my cheek as he tries to force my head toward him?—

The bathroom door suddenly explodes inward with a deafening crack.

Brayden storms through, his massive frame blocking out everything behind him, fury radiating from every line of his body. His eyes snap to Ethan’s hand beside my face, and a charged quiet settles over us, the kind that heralds trouble.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” His voice is deadly quiet, scarier than if he'd been shouting.

Ethan drops my wrists immediately and takes a step back. “This is a private conversation between me and my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” I correct, rubbing my wrists where his fingers have left red marks.

Brayden's gaze drops to the marks on my skin, and something shifts in his expression. The controlled fury fractures into something fierce and undeniable. In two strides, he's across the bathroom, grabbing Ethan by the throat and slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the cheap tile.

The crack of Ethan's head hitting the wall echoes in the small bathroom. I gasp, frozen in place as Brayden's massive forearm presses against Ethan's throat, lifting him until his feet barely touch the ground.

“Touch her again, and you’ll learn exactly how many bones are in the human hand.” Brayden’s voice drops, every word edged in warning. His grip tightens. “Those fingers that just marked her skin? I’ll take my time with each one. And when I’m done, the only prayer you’ll remember is the one begging me to stop.”