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He’s hers, despite how much I wish for a different ending.
That fucking does it.
This wallowing is beneath me.
“Give me a heads-up? And why is that?” I fill my tumbler a second time tonight and turn to watch them entering the kitchen.
He has his arms around Amara’s middle, pressing her back to his chest. They’re walking toward the kitchen island and stop when her stomach hits the granite counter. Then his arms bracket her against the counter.
“Hey, Killian, you’re up.” A slow smile spreads on Carter’s face.
Their presence turns this upscale penthouse into a home.
Their presence awakens things in me. The way Carter’s hovering over her. How her round, brown eyes seek my approval.
They look perfect for each other. A twenty-two and a twenty-five-year-old. Two young people who’ll never be interested in adding a man who’s almost forty-three to their duo. They shouldn’t.
“Killian?” Carter has his lips on Amara’s shoulder, eyeing me.
Both of them do. Standing there as if I hadn’t seen her naked and bent over this very island.
A second later, any and all thoughts of sex are wiped off my mind.
Because of Amara’s temple. Fuck, how could I have missed this?
The offensive lump is a bright shade of red. The frozen green peas pack in her hand drips on the floor, and she raises it hesitantly to her head.
Rage is the fuel that sets fire to my blood. Burning through my veins. Making me fucking lose it.
I slam the tumbler on the counter behind me and charge toward her.
Preston is a distant memory. My jealousy and sick desires are a thing of the past.
She’s hurt.
This wasn’t an accident. The bump is too big, too prominent to be caused by walking into a cupboard or some shit.
Someone touched her.
Not Carter, that’s for damn sure. The only women my stepson hurts are those who break Voltage’s rules. We don’t go easy on anyone.
That’s it. No one else.
Meaning someone hit Amara. That someone’s going to pay for this.
Her curious eyes widen in fear as I stalk toward her. Carter says nothing. The bond he and I have built over the years is thicker than blood. He gets what’s going through my head.
He knows better than to step between me and her. Between me and finding out what happened.
Even if my feelings aren’t reciprocated, I’ll murder someone for her.
“Amara,” I say, my voice hoarse, laced with rage.
Carter steps away from her.
I flick my gaze at him—a quick silent thank you.
Then I turn to her.
