Page 81 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

No one should.

No one except me.

My hand’s already fisted in his collar. He’s light, pathetically so. His shoes barely scrape the floor before I’ve got him dragged toward the door.

“What the hell, this is a misunderstanding, mate—”

I don’t let him finish. “No misunderstanding here,” I say, my tone clipped. “Just taking out the trash.”

He splutters, weakly pushing at my wrist, about as effective as a breeze.

At the door, I shove him toward the bouncers and slide a few folded notes into the taller one’s palm. “He’s done for the night.”

The boy starts mouthing off again, something about me being insane, about his rights, so I step in close, letting him see, just how little I give a damn.

“Run home,” I tell him quietly. “And pray I never learn your name. Because if I do… by tomorrow, you’ll be ruined.”

“What did I even do? I don’t under—”

I cut him off. “You touched what’s mine. Be grateful you can still stand. Now run, before I decide to start breaking bones.”

Just the thought of him putting his hands on Ophelia sends rage tearing through me. I lift my phone, snap a picture of his face.

He won’t walk away from this untouched.

I turn, not wasting another second on the bastard, and head back inside.

The crowd moves around me in waves, but my eyes find her instantly.

The bane of my existence.

The table’s nearly empty now. Piper’s speaking quietly to Hunter, Adelaide and Isaak are gone, so are Milo and Octavia.

I walk straight to her, catch her wrist, and draw her up from the chair. She doesn’t resist. She’s seen my expression.

Good.

Because I’m angry, furious, in fact. Every muscle in my jaw aches from holding it in.

I steer her down a narrow corridor, past the bathrooms.

When I push open a door marked Staff Only, we come face to face with Isaak and Adelaide.

They spring apart, her cheeks flushed, his expression murderous.

“Out,” he growls.

I slam the door shut behind them and hear the lock click.

My hand stays around Ophelia’s wrist as I drag her toward another door, also marked Staff.

I shove it open, two people sit inside, taking their meal.

“Out,” I say, my voice final.

They don’t argue. One look at my face and they’re gone.

I close the door, twist the lock, and turn to face her, the woman who’s driving me to the edge of my own reason.