Chapter 42
UPDATE: FAKE FIANCé IS CAPABLE OF TOSSING EX-BOYFRIEND ACROSS THE ROOM LIKE A RAG DOLL. #UTTERSATISFACTION
AXEL
What. The. Fuck?
The only thing capable of making me release Mathew’s neck was the sight before me: Dakota covered in blood. It stained the side of her head like spilled wine, cascaded in a crimson waterfall down her ear and throat, and pooled onto her designer gown.
I dropped Mathew and sprinted across the foyer, scooping her from Ryker’s arms. Her scent was tainted with the metallic tang of blood.
“Sunshine.” My voice came out rougher than I’d ever heard it. “What the fuck happened?”
“I’m fine,” she claimed, but her gaze darted between me and Mathew, as if—and you have to be shitting me here—she was more worried about the two of us fighting than whatever the hell was wrong with her.
“I can walk.” She tried to release herself from my grip, but I tightened my arms around her. Her body felt too light, too fragile. Like she might dissolve if I let go.
I carried her to the leather couch, laying her down against the cream cushions. Our dinner guests gathered around the edges of my living room, their designer evening wear suddenly obscene against the backdrop of her injury.
“Axel, I assure you, I’m totally fine …”
“She’s not fine,” Ryker cut through her protest. “Someone clocked her in the head. Hard enough to drop her. Found her crumpled on the concrete.”
“Fuck.” I had never experienced the level of fury now boiling through my blood. My fingers balled into fists, and instantly, I could feel the shift in everything. The moment where everything in my life changed, split into the before and after.
Before she was attacked. And after.
Before I took her for granted. And after I realized I couldn’t survive without her.
Before someone dared touch her. And after, when I’d hunt him to the ends of the earth to make him pay for what he did.
While my mind was preoccupied with rage and concern, Blake slipped into emergency-doctor mode and knelt next to her head, his movements clinical and efficient.
“She needs stitches,” Blake said. “And a CT scan.”
“Stitches?” Dakota’s voice pitched higher. “Can’t we just use butterfly bandages?”
“Sunshine.” I moved closer so I could take her hand. “You’re doing whatever the doctor says.”
Her lips pressed into that stubborn line I knew too well.
Jesus. Look at her, lying there on my couch.
She wasn’t crying. Not even after being attacked and left bleeding on concrete.
With blood actively leaking from her wound, trickling down her neck to stain the silk, she looked more uncomfortable with all the attention this was bringing her than with the injury itself.
Strongest woman I’d ever met.
“Before we leave for the ER, I’d like to get gauze on the wound to control the bleeding. You have a first aid kit?” Blake eyed me.
I nodded, then sprinted down the hallway toward my bathroom. When I returned, Mathew was huddled beside her with an ice pack from my freezer.
Mathew’s voice was soft. Snake-like. “Just try to stay still, Dakota. You’ve been through enough tonight.”
My pulse pounded in my ears as I watched him lean over her, playing the concerned ex-boyfriend. Now he was trying to be the knight in shining armor when he was the one whose big mouth had caused this mess in the first place.
I stormed over to him, grabbed him by his expensive suit collar, and flung him backward across the living room like a rag doll. He hit the window with a satisfying thud.
Too bad it didn’t break and send him free-falling to his death.
“What the hell—” Mathew started.
“Keep your hands off her.” I took his spot, handing Blake the gauze.
Blake’s glare could have frozen hell, but I didn’t give a damn about his judgment.
“Did you see who did this?” I asked Dakota.
She shook her head, but worry creased her brow as she scanned the crowd of guests still watching like this was dinner theater.
She didn’t need an audience.
“Everyone, out.” I didn’t look up from her wound. “Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s okay,” Mathew declared, straightening his tie like he hadn’t just been hurled across the room like a little bitch. He made the mistake of taking a step closer, so I shot to my feet and shoved him with both hands.
Jace materialized in front of me, holding me back, while Ryker moved in front of Mathew.
“She’s hurt because of you. Your big mouth,” I snapped.
“I told her what she deserved to know! You’re the one who lied!” Mathew’s voice stayed level, controlled. “And now look what’s happened. She’s hurt, Axel. This is what I was worried about.”
“You seriously think this is how you win her back?” I snapped.
“She doesn’t belong with you! Look at her. She was safe until she got involved with you.”
“You son of a bitch!” I broke free from Jace long enough to crack Mathew’s jaw.
“Enough!” Blake’s voice boomed like a gunshot.
“Get out of my house,” I snarled between pants.
Mathew touched his split lip, blood trickling down his chin. His eyes found Dakota’s. “I’m going to win her back.”
White-hot fury exploded behind my eyes. Every muscle in my body coiled, ready to launch across the room and drive my fist through Mathew’s goddamn face.
I wanted to feel his nose break under my knuckles.
Wanted to wipe that smug expression off his bloodied mouth permanently.
Rearrange his dental work while I was at it.
Give him something to remember me by every time he smiled in the mirror.
I took a step forward, violence singing in my veins.
But then I caught sight of Dakota out of my peripheral vision. Still bleeding. Still fragile. Still mine to protect.
If I lost control now, if I gave in to the primal need to destroy Mathew, I’d be abandoning her when she needed me most. He’d probably get me arrested, put in jail for the night.
I forced myself to stay rooted in place, every fiber of my being screaming in protest. My hands clenched into fists so tight, my knuckles went white. The taste of copper filled my mouth from biting back the words I wanted to snarl.
Jace and Ryker flanked me, sensing how close I was to snapping, but it wasn’t them holding me back anymore.
It was her.
Mathew stepped into the elevator, never breaking eye contact, that bastard’s smile still plastered across his face. “I’ll call you later, Dakota.”
The doors closed on his smug, bloodied face, and I nearly put my fist through the wall instead.
I turned back to Dakota and froze.
Which was when I registered the fresh look of horror painted across her features. I followed her gaze to the influencers, who had their phones out. Recording every moment of what had happened, evidently.
The influencers exchanged glances, practically salivating over the drama.
Dakota’s carefully curated fairy-tale image was crumbling in real time, and they were documenting every second.