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He claps a hand on my shoulder and walks away.
There’s a sadness in his shoulders and in the way he walks.
Alec might be young, but he’s been heartbroken. His girlfriend left him, because of the way he treated her. He would know what happens to men who don’t tell their woman how important she is.
I take my seat with a groan and pull out my phone for a distraction.
I don’t want to become Alec. Or my father for that matter. I want to keep what I have. I just need to figure out how to do that.
It’s not long until my concentration is broken.
I look up, my eyes finding Christina immediately. She’s closer now and I can see her face much clearer.
I squeeze my hands into fists.
The skin beneath her eyes is red and puffy.
Rage and pain fill me. Who hurt her? What happened? Who dared mess with my angel?
Her dark hair looks as if she’s run her fingers through it nonstop from the moment she left the table.
My gaze narrows. I don’t like this. I can’t take it anymore. I stand, marching over.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, my hand clasping her thigh as she sits down.
I would burn the world for her. I hate that someone has upset her. I do a quick intake of her face and body to make sure that’s what I’m seeing. If someone has put their hands on her… If Jimmy has put his hands on her… I don’t care where we are or how much shit we’ll cause.
Heads will roll.
But it’s not physical harm that I see – it’s sadness.
A part of me is relieved.
While I don’t like it when she’s sad – I can work with that. The despair on her face sets my nerves on edge, but it’s something I can manage. Physical pain however… I swallow hard.
Violence is in my nature, and I will unleash it for her in a heartbeat.
She sniffles, wiping the back of her hand over her face.
“Angel. Talk to me.” I ask again. I hate that she won’t answer me. I need to know that she’s okay.
They made us go through metal detectors to get through the door. I feel naked without my gun. I eye the handle of the steak knife still on the table, hidden beneath my napkin.
I can’t shoot anyone here. But I can still stab whoever hurt her. I would do so. Gladly.
“Christina,” I press. “Tell me what’s wrong!”
“Nothing,” she says, staring in front of her, refusing to meet my eyes.
It’s absolutely something.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
A flash of gold streaks by and Christina pales.
I take her by the hand and lead her back to our table.
“Christina. I swear to God. You have five seconds to tell me before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of this room.”
