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I squeeze his fingers until he drops the firearm on the floor, and I kick it near the bed—where I get a glimpse of Lori straddling the other guy and punching him repeatedly.

I wrap my hand around Dick’s neck and lift him clear off his feet, growling in his face. “You dared harm what’s mine. I am going to have so much fun with you, you walking, talking, useless sack of shit.”

I look at Ollie. His teary eyes are on me. Dick takes advantage and spits on my cheek. I raise him higher in the air and then toss his body against the wall. Plaster falls down. I relish in the sound of a bone or two cracking when he drops to the floor with a whimper of pain.

“Lori, take Ollie away. Now!” I snarl, keeping my eyes on the shithead on the floor.

“No, Rague!” I hear Ollie screaming, but I don’t look at him. In the corner of my eye, I see Lori trying to pull him out of the bedroom and my feral kitty fighting against it.

“Leave. Now!” I yell, so fucking worried I’ll hurt Ollie if he stays.

Then everything stills. I feel the blood slowly pumping in my veins, each heartbeat thumping inside my chest, the excruciating hurt overwhelming my body.

The red haze fills my vision. I vanish, leaving only space for my anger. My last conscious thought is filled with hope that Ollie got out safely.

Chapter 12

OLIVER

Leave. Now!

Chills spread over my skin. The tone of his voice had been furious, dangerous, and etched with something that told me he was suffering. The bullet Dick shot looked like it only scraped his outer shoulder. It must have hurt, but the pain in his voice sounded agonizing.

“I’m fine, Lori. Stop fussing!” Sully is sniffing annoyedly at him.

“I know. I know. But Papa Lori needs to be sure.”

“It’s more like Papa Lori feels guilty for leaving Sully in the car while he was having fun beating up scum,” Sully retorts.

“You were fine!” Lori quips.

“Exactly,” Sully smirks at him.

Another scream comes from the house, and I stop my pacing, turning my face to Lori.

“I need to go back,” I croak. There’s a lump in my throat growing with anxiety.

My best friend replies, “Raul…”

“Rague,” both Sully and I say at the same time.

“He told us to leave. Micro Dick was the only one standing. The other two guys were out,” he reminds me, turning a devilish smile to his own swollen knuckles. “And he can take him easily.”

“There was something off,” I insist. “I need to go to him.”

“Go.” Sully nods at me. He really looks fine—apart from the bruise on his face and caked blood under his nose. Fucking Dick! But the color is back on his cheeks and he isn’t trembling. The panic attack was light.

“Alright, I’m coming with you, but let me get the other bat from my car first.” He grabs his from the ground.

“Lori…”

“No. It’s not up for discussion. If you go in there without me I’ll tickle your feet until you pee yourself—again.” He gives me an evil look and then jogs away.

“So, Rague. Is he a friend?” Sully asks.

My head snaps his way, and I know he’s already guessed the answer.

“No. He’s…more.” It’s not much, but I’m still coming to terms with what I’m feeling. With the sensation of wrongness I felt when I sneaked out of Rague’s house. The unbearable hollowness that grew with the miles I drove away from him, as if every cell in my body felt the painful distance I was putting between us.