Page 33 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

DANE

T he sign on the gallery door is flipped to closed , but the door is unlocked. Abigail must still be here with Stephen.

Irritation tightens my jaw. She was supposed to return to the penthouse nearly twenty minutes ago. I’ve tried to give her space to work—I have to respect her independence—but I can’t wait any longer.

I should’ve given her a damn phone so I can reach her whenever I want.

Or I should’ve just accompanied her to her meeting at the gallery. I should’ve stayed by her side, where I can watch over her. I should keep her on a leash so that she’s never out of my sight.

I shake my head sharply and push open the door. She won’t thank me if I burst into her meeting like an enraged, possessive brute.

But I can’t bring myself to put on my civilized mask, either.

Stephen will have to deal with the cold, clinical monster at my core. It’s the best I can do at the moment when all I want is to punish him for keeping Abigail from me.

I walk through the gallery, searching for them. The lights are still on, but I don’t hear their voices echoing from any of the spacious rooms.

I scowl and find a narrow corridor on the ground floor that’s marked staff only . They must be somewhere in the back offices.

Just the thought of that little fucker being alone with Abigail in private makes white-hot rage pulse through my veins.

I remind myself that she won’t like it if I punch the gallery owner’s son in his entitled rich kid face. No matter how much I would enjoy smashing those pretentious glasses with my fists.

A low moan rolls from the back office, and I immediately know it’s hers. I live for that sound.

And she’s making it for another man.

My chest hollows out, and the ground shifts beneath my feet.

This can’t be real. She wouldn’t.

She gave herself to me.

The corridor blurs around me as I surge toward them. All of my muscles coil tight, ready to unleash my fury in a burst of violence.

I storm into the office, and my stomach drops at the sight of them together on the small couch.

She’s beneath him, her blouse unbuttoned. His hands are on her breasts, and his lips taste hers.

He’ll die for this. And Abigail…

I’ll think about her punishment later.

Because I can never hurt her. Never.

Back in her studio, I offered her the heart from my chest. She might as well have ripped it out with her bare hands.

I bellow at the agony of her betrayal.

Him. I focus on him. He’ll suffer and scream before I end his miserable life.

He tears his lips from hers, and his brown eyes are wide behind his large glasses when he sees me surging toward him.

“Wait!” He gasps, but he’ll get no mercy from me.

I grab him by his shirt and yank him off of her before tossing him across the room like garbage. His filthy hands touched her. His taint mars her perfect skin.

He scrambles away from me, but there’s nowhere for him to go. I lash out, my boot connecting with his jaw. It shatters at the impact, and he screams. I stomp my heel down on the back of the hand that touched what’s mine. The fine bones crunch beneath my heel.

Before I can destroy his other hand, Abigail moans again.

In horror at my violence?

I stiffen. I shouldn’t be affected by her fear. She should be afraid of me.

I’m the monster out of her worst nightmares. I always have been.

“Dane…” My name is slow and oddly slurred.

I whirl to face her, panic spiking through my system. Did I injure her somehow when I tore that bastard off of her? Even in my rage, the thought makes my stomach lurch with a surge of nausea.

Her lovely eyes are unfocused and strangely dull. It’s inherently wrong. She’s peering at me like she can’t quite see me.

She’s sprawled out on the couch exactly as she was when I stormed in. She hasn’t tried to cover herself. She hasn’t moved at all.

Her hand twitches toward me, and her soft whimper of distress shreds me.

A red haze descends over my vision.

He drugged my Abigail. He touched her. He violated her.

And I failed to protect her.

So many men have wanted my beautiful pet. Sick bastards who would do anything just to touch her. Taste her. Fuck her.

Whether she wants them or not.

I may be a monster, but I’m her monster.

I grasp her chilled hand and brush my lips over her knuckles.

“I’ve got you,” I promise. “You’re safe.”

Behind me, Stephen groans through his broken jaw.

I carefully button her blouse so that she’s covered, hiding her from his covetous eyes.

The eyes that I’m about to pluck out.

“Don’t watch, Abigail,” I command softly, stroking her hair back from her cheek. Her lashes flutter. “That’s it. Close your eyes for me. I’ll take care of this. I’ll take care of you,”

I drop a kiss on her lips, and they’re far too still beneath mine.

Rage surges back to the fore, and I round on my enemy.

He’s crawling away from me, dragging himself along the aged cream carpet with his unbroken hand.

I smash his delicate bones with my heel, ensuring he’ll never hold a pen again.

Not that he’ll need to.

He’ll be dead within minutes.

A savage rush soars through my system, and if it weren’t for Abigail’s distress, I would bark a cruel laugh at the incredible high. As it is, I focus my righteous fury on the only thing that matters now: making him suffer in the short time he has left.

I surrender to the red haze, and I take out my retribution in blood.

When I return to Abigail, my hands are coated in gore. I frown down at them. I can’t let his filthy blood mar her body.

Now that I’m coming down from my vicious high, some of my rationality is returning.

There’s a dead body to deal with.

Ron was so easy to dispose of. Back in Charleston, the natural predator had done all the work for me. The alligator didn’t leave any trace of him behind.

But this…

Stephen is a bloody mess in a gallery in the middle of York. I hope to fuck there’s not a camera in this office.

Probably not, since he won’t have wanted a recording of what he was doing to Abigail.

My fists clench at my sides, and I wish I could kill him all over again.

I take a breath and force myself to think.

I’ll have to leave Stephen here. I don’t have a hope of dragging his body anywhere to dispose of it; there are too many tourists in the city for me to get him very far without someone screaming.

There will be an investigation once his body is found in the gallery, but there’s nothing concrete to link me to the crime. I had reason to be in this building only yesterday. If I’ve left any small traces of myself behind, they can be easily explained away.

I inspect my hands. None of the blood is mine. My heavy boots did most of the work until I squeezed the last of the life out of him.

I’ll have to dispose of the boots. And my clothes. I’ll drop them in the river later.

Luckily, I’m dressed in a black shirt and dark wash jeans. The blood that’s splattered my clothes won’t be easily visible when I step outside into the night.

I’m no forensic expert. I might be missing something, but if I get the hell out of the country as soon as possible, I won’t be around for the police to question me.

I have to get Abigail back to the safety of the penthouse. As soon as she wakes up tomorrow, we’ll leave. London is only a couple of hours away. We can be on a flight by tomorrow night.

I lift her limp body and cradle her close to my chest.

“You’re safe,” I promise. “Everything will be okay.”