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I know what Killian will have to say about that. That she can handle everything.
I’d beg to differ. There’s a huge difference between hurting someone and killing them in—sometimes—very creative ways.
Anyway.
Back to the asshole I go. I growl in his ear, “I dare you to call her a little whore one more time.” The way I’m holding him isn’t cutting it for me. I dip a finger into his bleeding forehead. Painting the rest of the skin up there in red.
Then I shove my finger into his ear.
My finger is far too thick to rupture his eardrum. But we both know I’m psycho enough to try.
Christopher grunts. Does his best to wrangle himself out of my grip.
“Next time you call her by any fucking name, I’ll sew your mouth shut. Personally.” My top lip curls in a snarl. I mash his cheek to the cool marble, the wrath on my face filling his view. “Won’t lose sleep over it, either.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Amara doesn’t flinch. I think the pieces start clicking into place for her. Or she might be okay because she thinks I’m issuing empty threats.
That I’d never be this cruel.
I was. I am. I motherfucking will.
One of these days—soon—I’ll open up. Tell her what monstrosities Killian and I are capable of. Soon.
“Aww, so I was right. She is your girlfriend.”
Brave motherfucker. On any other day, I’d admire this quality. Today, Christopher’s doing the unforgivable. Going after Amara. Taunting me with an underlying threat.
“You broke the rules,” I say loud enough for the people in the lobby to hear.
I can’t bring myself to lie. Can’t utter the words she’s not mine.
She fucking is.
“No hurting anyone here.”
“As mentioned, I didn’t break—”
Fucking hitmen and their overconfidence. So full of themselves after ending the lives of dozens of people. Invincible, even.
He might be. Anywhere else but here.
“Harassment means hurting someone. Besides, this isn’t about her. This is about you, Chrissy Pooh.” The corners of my lips tick higher. My voice is that of a mother babying her child. “What happened? You butthurt that we kicked out your precious accountant? That’s why you’re throwing a tantrum? Little baby can’t handle the real world?”
I’m calculated when I deliver my speech. Mad, but calculated. Keeping my secrets from Amara close to my chest. She knows this is an exclusive, members-only hotel. For rich people. The NDA she signed when we first hired her stated as much. I bet she recognizes some of their ugly mugs from the news.
The rest she’ll hear about soon.
“Tantrum, my ass.” His smugness vanishes off his pretty boy face. At thirty-five, he looks younger than I am. “I’m here to get justice. You two were wrong to revoke his membership. Admit it.”
“You’re telling us how to run our hotel, Boroughs?” Killian materializes at Christopher’s other side, yanking on his tie from beneath him. Mashing his face harder into the bar.
Guess he’s had enough of Christopher’s bullshit. That, coupled with Amara being safe and sound, means it’s time for him to join the fun.
“No.” Christopher swallows, his fingers pushing against the bar. We don’t let up an inch. “I’m telling you Preston made one mistake. He deserves a second—”
“He deserves jack shit.” Killian’s gruff voice sends ice racing down my spine. Christopher must be freaking terrified.
It shouldn’t make me hard.
