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Her hair is in knots, her clothes disheveled, and hickeys spot her neck. Knowing my hands and lips marked her body floods me with perverted pride. I kissed Anastasia to claim her as mine. Every minute I don’t get to do it again will be torture.
But keeping her safe is paramount. Her determination is unshakable, so I nod while entwining our fingers. “Don’t leave my side.”
We exit the garage together, hair flying back as we run with hands entwined. The ambulance lights at the distance merge with the red and blue swirls of police vehicles.
What the fuck is going on?
I see a medium-sized male lifted on a stretcher. The emergency medical attendant moves to the side to fix an oxygen mask on the patient. I see who it is. That guy. The one who attacked Ana. The one whose blood splattered on my shirt when I hammered down his pervert face.
“It’s Philip,” Ana mumbles beside me.
“Oh my god, where have you been?!” Shawna screeches and wraps her arms around Ana.
“Wh—”
“We didn’t even know he was attacked until we heard the ambulance,” another girl says. “Apparently, Philip called 911 before he lost consciousness. Who would do this to him?”
Ana looks at me, eyes wide and glassy. Her mouth is open, but no sound emerges.
“It’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her. “Let me find someone who—”
“Excuse me sir, can we speak to you?” One of the police officers parks himself beside Ana to get my attention. The way he stands too close to her definitely gets my attention.
“What do you want?” I bark.
“Are you Bryce MacElroy? A fellow guest pointed you out.”
“Why?”
“I asked you a question.” The blue and red lights flashing across his face expose the determined line of the cop’s lips. They quiver a little, revealing the insecurity of inexperience. “Are you Bryce MacElroy?” he asks again.
Before I can answer, another cop—bigger, bulkier, and older—sticks his face into my line of vision. “He asked you a question, boy!”
His yapping sends spit into the air. Saliva lands on Ana’s face, which she wipes away with a wince. My attention tunnels to his offending mouth. My fists clench, eager to feel that ugly mug split when it meets my knuckles.
I’m livid, yet a single thought pushes past my anger. I need to get Ana out of here.
“I’m not your fucking boy,” I snarl and pull Ana to my side, placing my hand around her body. I’ll haul her into the house if I have to. “Let’s get inside.”
“Are you refusing to identify yourself as Bryce MacElroy?” the saliva-spouting cop says.
“What is this about?” Sergei stands in front of Ana protectively. I relax a little, knowing he’s on alert for her.
“We’re here to detain Bryce MacElroy.”
Sergei looks at me and then back at the officer. “Why? He’s a guest. You must be mistaken.”
“He’s a suspect. The victim identified Mr. MacElroy as the perpetrator before he lost consciousness.”
“No!” Ana screams. “That’s not what happened!”
“Ana, go inside with your brother,” I growl.
Instead of listening to me, she wraps her arms around my neck. The move startles everyone, me most of all. Before I can address the implications of what is happening, the younger cop grabs her shoulders.
I fucking lose it. Without thinking, I grab the cop’s wrist and twist. When he rears his head back, my other hand clamps around his throat. The way his neck yields to my grip is so satisfying, I chortle a little.
Hell breaks loose. From the corner of my eye, I see Shawna and Aunt Maeve hold a struggling, sobbing Ana. Sergei pulls my arm back. “Fuck, Bryce! What the hell!”
