Page 90 of Hate To Be Mine

His hand was on her waist. She was laughing, but she looked uncomfortable. And nervous.

I had seen plenty of women in clubs that listened to their intuition. They always knew when a guy was skeevy. Sometimes they listened to that little voice and sometimes they didn’t. It was up to the good guys to look out for the women and protect them from the assholes.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. She smiled to lessen the blow.

“Just think of it as extending the shoot. You were so good today. Natural. I could make you look even better.”

Something in me snapped. I crossed the remaining distance in three strides and grabbed Rico by the shoulder, spinning him around.

“Back off,” I said, my voice coming out low and dangerous.

“Hey, man, we’re just talking.”

“You’re done talking. Get the fuck away from her.”

“Sebastian.” Bernadette tried to settle me, but I wasn’t listening.

Rico shoved me. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy telling you to keep your hands off her.”

“She’s not your property, Blackwell.” He shoved me again, harder, but it barely budged me. I shoved back. Then he took a swing and connected with my jaw, and all rational thought evaporated.

I swung back. Connected with his nose. Heard the satisfying crunch.

We grappled, falling into the grass, and each of us threw a couple more punches. People were shouting but I ignored all of it. Hands pulled at us, trying to separate us.

Then I heard it. Sirens.

“Shit, the cops are coming!”

“Someone called the police!”

We were finally pulled apart, both of us breathing hard. Blood dripped from Rico’s nose. My knuckles were scraped raw. And Bernadette stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes wide with shock.

Two Miratoan police officers arrived, taking in the scene with stern expressions. It was bad. Really, really bad.

They separated us, asking questions. What happened. Who started it. Were there any witnesses.

“This is a peaceful island,” one officer said. “We don’t tolerate violence. Especially from tourists who think rules don’t apply to them.”

“He started it,” Rico said, pointing at me. “I was just talking to the lady and he attacked me.”

“That’s not—” I started, but the officer held up a hand.

“We’ll interview everyone separately. You.” He pointed at me. “Come with me.”

I looked at Bernadette. Tried to catch her eye. Tried to silently apologize.

But she wouldn’t look at me. Just stood there, pale and mortified, staring at the ground.

They escorted me back to my bungalow while they interviewed Rico and the crew. I was told to stay put and they’d be back to talk to me. I sat alone on my bed in the dark with reality crashing down around me.

I’d just confirmed every fear my brothers had ever had about me. I just gave them the ammunition they needed to prove I was irresponsible. They were going to say I let my dick—or in this case, my feelings—compromise the entire production.

One strike. That was all it took in Miratoa. One violation of their strict rules and they could shut down the entire campaign. They could revoke our permits for the runway show. Millions of dollars down the drain.

Elizabeth’s designs, the crew’s hard work, all of it jeopardized because I couldn’t control myself for five seconds.