Page 127 of His Trick

“Tyler!” My voice ripped down the hall.

He turned to me, annoyance flashing across his face, before it stretched into that same smug grin. “Easy, hero. We’re just catching up.”

“Does catching up include putting your disgusting hands on her?” I said, stalking closer. “Let her fucking go. Now.”

“She’s fine,” he drawled, his beady eyes cutting back to her. “Aren’t you, Xanthy? You used to like it when I held you like this.”

Her face paled, her lips parting, but no sound came out, only a soft whimper of pain.

Something in me cracked wide open. All the restraint, the civility, and the patience all erupted within an instant.

I grabbed him by the shoulder and ripped him backward until he stumbled in surprise. His whiskey glass shattered on the tile below us, and before he could recover, my fist connected with his fucking nose.

The crunch was wet, blood spraying across his suit, my knuckles, and my girlfriend.

“What the fuck? You broke my nose,” he roared, clutching his face. But I didn’t stop.

“You will fucking bleed.”

I drove him back against the wall with another punch, then another, until his grin was gone and all that remained was blood dripping down his chin and clothing.

“You think you can manipulate and bully your way into a woman’s fucking pants?” I snarled, my chest heaving. “You so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll fucking bury you myself.”

Behind me, Xanthy gasped, her hands trembling against my arm as she pulled me back. “Shiloh, stop. Please.”

Her voice cut through, dragging me back from the edge as Tyler slumped against the wall, the blood continuously pouring from his broken nose. His eyes flashed with something darker than pain.

The hallway spun with the echo of my pulse, the copper tang of blood thick in the air, and the darkness swirling in my blood. I stood there, my fists dripping red, and the weight of the ring in my pocket suddenly heavier than ever.

Because now it wasn’t just about love or choice.

It was about a fucking war.

I grabbed him again, yanking Tyler back into the wall. The first punches had barely scratched the surface, barely let out the fire in me.

But now it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered, not the wedding, not the crowd, not even the ring in my pocket.

Tyler’s laughter, that smug, self-satisfied laugh, cut into my head like a razor blade, and all I could picture was how that laugh sounded while he hurt Xanthy for years. I could feel every story Xanthy had whispered about him, the cruelty, the control, and the darkness. It all came alive in front of me. The blood pounding in my ears was my own, not his.

I hit him again.

Harder.

“You think you’re so big, don’t you? Breaking a woman so she can’t tell you no.”

Crack.

“You think making her feel small raises you higher?”

Snap.

“How tall and bad do you feel now, big boy? You’re going to beg for her forgiveness. You’ll beg at her fucking feet.”

Kick.

“Like the bitch you are.”