Page 39 of Now Their Starlet

“Eli, don’t—” Leo’s words barely register.

I move forward, using all of my enhanced alpha speed and strength to grab Ezra by his collar and slam him against the wall so hard, the picture frames of other famous people who’ve performed at this radio station rattle.

Ezra lets out a choked wheeze as all the air from his lungs escapes.

I don’t give a shit.

I cock my fist back and slam it into his face, channeling all the emotions that’ve been building up in the pressure cooker that is my mind. My fist meets his jaw and his head cracks backward with a satisfying sound.

But it’s not enough. Because no matter how many times I punch this bastard, it won’t undo what he did to Andi and it definitely won’t bring her back.

I manage to punch him a second time; this time, there’s a spray of blood from his nose. It drips down onto his expensive black hoodie; the color barely staining the fabric.

I must be losing my fucking mind because the sight of the red disappearing into the black fabric makes me long to see his blood splattered everywhere, just like Andi’s blood stained the fabric of her dress that night.

“Dude, stop!” Leo hisses, the only one brave enough to come up behind me and grab my cocked fist. “You can’t be catching assault charges in the middle of this mess.”

My knuckles are already swelling. I flex my hand and welcome the ache. Better this than the alternative. It’s at least slightly more cathartic than putting my fist through the wall.

That’s not a hypothetical comparison either. There’s a hole in the wall of my bedroom back at our penthouse, from before we pseudo moved into Edison’s home and I’d found the t-shirt Andi wore while I picked her up and we kissed for the first time in the kitchen.

I sniffed it like a fucking weirdo, praying I could catch a hint of her scent, but it’s been too long since she wore it. I’ve never been good at releasing my emotions like Beck, or directing my emotions towards something productive like Leo. All I have are my fists.

It seems like without Andi’s soothing presence, I’m backsliding into the shadow of my pops.

“It’s... fine...” Ezra wheezes, his voice thick as the blood as his fucked-up nose drips down the back of his throat. His lip is split and swelling from where I landed the first punch. He meets my gaze, his dark eyes sharp in a way that just serves to piss me off further. “I hit her... three times. You’re only at two... go for it.”

If it weren’t for Leo’s surprisingly intense grip on my arm and the tone of his voice, I would’ve taken him up on his offer and probably punched him a hell of a lot more than three times. But even though the words seem like they’re a taunt, his tone tells a different story. He sounds resigned. Almost... guilty? Ashamed?

It’s the last thing I’d expect from an omega-beating alpha nepo-baby who still has his reputation.

I settle for shoving him back into the wall. Through the haze of my rage, I catch the way he tucks his chin down ever so slightly so the back of his head doesn’t slam into the plaster. He knows how to take a hit. The same way I do.

My fists clench at my side.

I shouldn’t feel bad for this fucking asshole, but I can’t help but remembering the way Leo told Beck and I, that apparently Jonathan Fletcher has been an abusive piece of shit for decades, according to Edison. Wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he beat his son, too.

Still, that’s not an excuse for what he did to Andi. Not at all.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl, my lips peeling back in a grimace that bares my teeth.

“I’m calling Everett,” Leo murmurs, stepping aside and putting his phone to his ear.

Ezra’s eyes flicker to Leo, flashing with recognition at the mention of Everett’s name before he shuts it down. I’m too pissed off to figure out what that look meant. Regardless, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m—I’m here because I’m one of the only people allowed to see Andi, and she—she obviously needs all the help she can get.”

The low growl that leaves my chest at the mention of Andi’s name on his lips has Ezra flinching. Beck lets out a soft cough at the intensity of my blood orange scent, sour from my anger and thick with dominance.

The door behind me flies open to reveal Everett and Cameron. I barely register their shocked expressions before my eyes lock back onto Ezra. If he so much as moves wrong, I’m reintroducing his face to my fist.

“What in the world are you doing here?” Everett says, his voice low.

His dominance fills the room, making my own fury look like a child’s tantrum. It has everyone in the room stiffening, especially Beck, who takes a subtle step back. This can’t be good for his hormones.

“Look,” Ezra says, standing up straighter. “Andi told me to come find you.”

That admission has shock rippling through the entire room.