Page 428 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"You’re wasting your time." I pull my hand out from under my date’s.

Violet set me up with him, and I didn’t have the energy to say no.

He turned out to be pleasant enough…and polite and boring.

There was no connection, no chemistry. And he didn’t try to kiss me goodnight.

Which is probably why I agreed when he asked me out again.

Or maybe I’m lonely and miss Rick. Only, he hasn’t called me or texted me.

Not once in these three months. And if sometimes, I felt I was being watched, that was only a figment of my imagination, right?

Rick has forgotten me. No matter that we're married. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

And while he might have been regretful for how he’d made me fall in love with him, all of that was pushed aside when he told me to leave. He didn’t want me in his life.

I've managed to stay off his social media feeds and told Mira and my other London friends not to give me news of him. As a result, I have no idea what he's up to. He’s probably moved on to other women.

He was genuinely broken up at Grams’ death, and without Tiny there to keep him company, he’s definitely turned to someone else for solace.

He's probably been fucking the puck-bunnies who lined up outside the dressing room after every game. He didn’t play in the last exhibition match the Ice Kings participated in.

I only know this because I chanced upon a news item on my phone.

I clicked out of it, but not before the announcer said Rick Mitchell was not playing.

Probably too busy with whoever the new woman in his life is.

The fact that he's married doesn’t matter to him.

I'm nothing, and it’s time I realize that and move on.

"Gio?" My date’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Sorry, what did you say, Calvin?"

"It’s Kevin." He regards me with a half-patient, half-frustrated look. "I said, do you want to go dancing tonight?"

"Umm, not really, Devin." I toy with my fork and regard the full plate of food in front of me. The smell of the fish and chips—which I ordered in a fit of nostalgia over my time in London— makes me queasy. I let the fork fall to the plate with a clatter.

"I’m sorry I’m not better company, Levin," I murmur.

His cheeks redden. "My name is Kevin, with a K."

"Isn’t that what I said?" I frown.

"No, you didn’t."

Oh." I swallow. For some reason tears prick the backs of my eyes. "I’m so sorry." I swallow down the ball of emotion in my throat.

He searches my features. "You don’t look great."

"I don’t feel great," I confess.

"You look like you want to be anywhere else but here."

I half laugh. "Sorry, it’s not you. Honestly. I’m… not in a good space, is all."

"Whoever he is, I hope he knows how lucky he is," he murmurs.

"Not likely," I mumble. I glance away. I doubt Rick has spent any time thinking of me, at all. I need to stop trying to date other men. This pretense that I’m not married is not working. I might try to convince myself I’m over Rick, but the fact is, I fall asleep every night with his name on my lips.

And dream of him. And wake up from some very X-rated dreams, horny and sweating.

"Would you like some dessert? How about some chocolate cake?" Kevin asks.

My stomach protests. I shake my head, then jump to my feet. "I have to use the ladies' room. I’ll be back."

He opens his mouth to say something, but I rush past him, across the floor of the restaurant, up the short hallway and into the ladies' room. I pause in front of the sink, grip the edge, and take a deep breath.

I can do this. I can move on from Rick.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror—hollowed out cheeks, dark circles under my eyes. My hair flows down about my shoulders, but it’s lost its luster.

My life has lost its luster, Grams. I knew you for such a short time, but you became my family. What little time I spent with you showed me what it was to have someone who loves you. If only your grandson felt the same way. I’m sorry, I couldn’t make it work with him…

No… I wasn’t the one who couldn’t make it work.

That’s on Rick. But you know this already.

You know what he did to me. You know how he tried to apologize, and I might have even forgiven him.

I was so close to making a fresh start with him, but he decided he didn’t want it.

He didn’t want me, Grams. And you weren’t there to knock some sense into him, either, so—I raise a shoulder. So…

The pressure builds behind my eyes. My stomach creases in on itself, bile boils up, and I swallow it away.

And now, to top it all off, I feel sick.

Just great. I run water over my wrists, and splash some on my face, not caring about my makeup.

I pull out some paper towels and pat my forehead and hands.

The door opens, I glance up then pale.

"Dennis?"

He bares his teeth, then deliberately shuts the door behind him and locks it.

"Getting a little repetitive, aren’t you?" I manage to infuse a bored tone into my voice.

His smile widens. "Your fiancé, or should I say, your husband is not here to save you this time."

Adrenaline laces my blood. My pulse booms at my temples.

He moves toward me. I watch him approach, and force myself to breathe, breathe. I am not helpless. I am not. I will not let this asshole touch me.

When I flutter my eyelashes at him, he blinks. When I lick my lips, he comes to a stop, mesmerized. And when I bring up my hands and squeeze my breasts, the asshole pants. This… is true power. To take things in your own hands.

I meet his gaze in the mirror and aim a sultry smile at his reflection. "You need to come closer," I say in husky voice.

He steps forward, stopping at what I gauge is the right distance. That’s when I turn, grab his waist, fold my knee and swing it up. It connects with his crotch with a satisfying thunk.

"What the fuck?" he yells.

I release him, then brush past him, only he grabs my hair and tugs.

Fire races across my scalp, and tears squeeze out from the sides of my eyes. "Let go of me."

"Not until I’ve taught you a lesson, you tease." He shoves me with enough force that my hipbone smashes into the edge of the sink. Pain slices through me, but I refuse to let a groan escape me. I will not give him the satisfaction, will not.

"Release me, or I swear, my husband will kill you." As I say it, I know it’s true. Regardless of the fact he asked me to leave, Rick would never let any man who touched me live to see another day. A calmness descends. "You’d better let me go, if you want to keep your sorry life intact."

He scoffs, "Your husband’s not even in the country. By the time he finds out, I’ll be long gone. He—"

The door crashes open. The next moment, Rick lunges into the room, grabs Dennis by the shoulder, tears him off me, and throws him against the wall with a crash that echoes around the space.

There’s a stunned look on Dennis’ face, then he bares his teeth, straightens and rushes forward.

Rick blocks him, then punches his face, then his shoulder, then his stomach.

Dennis squeals, then staggers back. Without waiting for him to recover, Rick swings at him again.

This time, Dennis sidesteps him. Rick’s fist connects with the wall—which cracks.

Bits of plaster rain down from the ceiling.

There’s a commotion outside. I step up to the door, and lean my back against it, shutting it. I might not be the PR manager of the Ice Kings but I’m not going to let anyone get pics of what’s happening in here. The last thing the team or Rick needs is more notoriety.

This ends here, today. It has to. Rick spins around and kicks Dennis’ legs out from under him.

He hits the floor and lays there, stunned.

Before he can recover, Rick kicks him in the side, once, twice, thrice, then plants his foot on Dennis’ throat.

His gaze widens, he brings his hands up, grips Rick’s leg, but Rick must apply pressure, for his entire body shudders.

"You dare touch her, motherfucker? You dare touch my wife? I’m not going to let you live, this time." He leans forward.

Dennis’ features pale. His arms lose their hold, and his entire body jerks.

"Rick, don’t do it," I yell.

He doesn’t answer.

"Rick, stop, please!"

He blinks, then glances up at me. "You know I can’t let him go now. He came after you, and after I warned him. I have to kill him."

"No, you don’t."

He glares at me.

"But you can punish him, so he never forgets."

He stares at me for another second, then bends, grabs the other man’s arm, and twists. There’s a sickening crack and a gurgling sound emerges from his throat. Rick removes his foot, then grabs his other arm. Dennis’s gaze ping-pongs from his still intact arm to Rick’s face.

"No, no, please," he cries.

Rick lowers his chin. "This is for collateral."

That’s when there’s a banging on the door, then Edward’s voice reaches us, "Rick? Gio? You guys in there?"