Page 110 of Rev

She descends the step finally, slamming her palms into his chest, launching him backward several steps. “And then you divorced me. You had your lawyer buddies and judge friends bury me in court, and you tookmy house. The houseIpicked, the houseIfixed up. The houseIdecorated. The houseIfilled with furniture. The houseImade a home.”

She follows him backward, slamming her hands into his chest to punctuate each emphasized “I,” sending him backward across the circle.

“Ibuilt that house. Each room. I laid every board of flooring. I painted every wall. Dad, PopPop, Jordan, and Angus helped me build that house—myfamily,mybrothers,myfather,mygrandfather. You didnothing. And then you took it from me. You left me so broken I had no choice but to leave my home, my family, everything I knew, just to find something like okay.”

She stops shoving him backward toward his car, her voice lowering from a shout to a whisper. “And you know what, Darren? Ifoundit. I found it in arealman. I found it in a man who cares about me. Who protects me. Who makes me feel safe.” Gets in his face, and I feel the trouble before it happens—I start moving, feeling in my gut what’s about to happen. “I found a man who taught me how to fight back. How to overcome.” Nose to nose with him, she delivers her final blow. And I know, as I vault down the steps and sprint across the circle, that I’m too late. “I found a man who taught me what it feels like when a man knows how to pleasure a woman. Unlikeyou, Darren Isaiah Milch.”

I see his hand move, and I’m not there to stop it. I see him hit her. The back of his hand smacks across her cheek,hard, loud. She goes flying backward, twisting.

I’m there to catch her, and I gently settle her ass in the grass—she’s dazed, hurt, shocked, but not injured.

I straighten, slowly. Turn, even more slowly. Prowl one slow step after another in the direction of Darren.

“I’m sorry—god, no, no, Myka, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” He lurches toward her.

And then he sees me and stumbles backward, gone pale, now stammering wordlessly.

My vision is a red haze, my entire being a black fury.

My hand catches his throat, and Ilift.He goes up to his toes, and I walk him backward the last few feet to his car. Slam him back against the side, bend him backward over the roof. Pin him there, feet off the ground, and I watch his mouth work, his hands scrabbling at my wrist.

He struggles. Oh, he struggles. But he’s a weak little pissant, and I get to watch his struggles slowly get weaker.

“Rev.” Her voice. Cutting through the red haze.

I ignore it. Ignore the bodies around me, close, not daring to get too close, not daring to touch me.

Except her.

She moves into my line of sight, her small soft hand grazes my cheek, gently nudges my face in her direction. Somehow, my body obeys the command in that touch, and I look at her, despite the killing rage boiling inside me.

“No.” She rests her palm on my forearm. “He’s not worth it. Let him go.”

“Hit you.” It’s all I can manage through teeth clenched so hard my skull throbs with the pain radiating out from my molars.

“Let him go, Rev. Please.”

I find her clear, bright blue eyes in the twilight. Her cheek is red, but she’s fine.

It requires effort, like prying a rusty nail out of an old board with a claw hammer, but I manage to yank my hand away from his throat. I haven’t moved back, so he slides between me and the car, slumping down until I take a step backward, and he hits dirt.

It’s a long moment before he can even cough, and then he gasps, raspy, ragged. Dry heaves, one hand in the dirt, the other at his throat. He’s sobbing, the little bitch boy. Of course, I know from experience exactly how long it takes to choke the life out of a man with your hands, and that was close. Damn close. He may not ever speak the same again. I guess that may well shake him up a bit.

Her hand wraps around my cheek, spins me around, away from the puddle of pathetic, sniveling, woman-hitting shit-stain that is her ex. “Rev, come on. Leave him.”

I find her eyes again, the red haze and black fury fading. And I realize I almost just broke my vow.

If it wasn’t for her, I would have.

I turn to her, step into her space. Look down at her. Lift my hand—the same hand that moments before was seconds from killing a man—and touch her face. “Afraid of me, yet?”

She presses up against me, breasts squashing against my chest, lifts up on her toes. Whispers a kiss against my chin. My lips. “No.” It’s a breath. “I’m not.”

I just stare. Her eyes are bold, fearless. “Youarenuts.”

She even smiles. “About you, yeah. I could never be afraid of you.”

“That makes one of us,” I hear—one of her brothers. It’s tongue-in-cheek, but also not.