Chapter 18 #2
“Or what?” His mouth twists into a cruel smile. “You’ll call your biker boyfriend? Have him beat me up? You are my fucking wife, and I will do with you what I wish.”
I shove at his chest with both hands. “Stop it! I’m not your wife anymore!”
His expression turns sharper as he grabs my other wrist, pinning both arms to the sink.
“Come on, Cece. Don’t pretend you don’t miss me sometimes.”
“We could try again,” he murmurs, leaning closer, crowding me back against the cold porcelain. “I’d take you back. I know what you need.”
Revulsion ripples through my spine. “Don’t touch me.”
I twist my head away, but he follows the movement, his lips scraping too close to my ear. His free hand drifts lower, hovering at my hip, lingering there with ugly intent.
“You remember how it was,” he says softly. “You used to like it when you couldn’t fight me.”
My stomach churns. “Ethan, stop.”
He laughs under his breath, low and eager, the sound of a man who thinks he has already won. His fingers tighten on my hip, pressing me harder into the sink, and the look in his eyes shifts into something cold and hungry—something that tells me exactly what he came in here planning to do.
My pulse spikes with panic.
“Let me go,” I whisper, voice breaking.
He smiles, slow and cruel. “Why would I? We still have unfinished business.”
His body traps mine against the porcelain, his eyes taking on a hunger that has nothing to do with affection.
“Ethan, stop,” I rasp.
He doesn’t. He leans in, closing that last inch of space, lips brushing my cheek as he tries to force my head toward him—
The bathroom door suddenly explodes inward with a deafening crack.
Brayden storms through, his massive frame blocking out everything behind him, fury radiating from every line of his body. His eyes snap to Ethan’s hand beside my face, and a charged quiet settles over us, the kind that heralds trouble.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” His voice is deadly quiet, scarier than if he'd been shouting.
Ethan drops my wrists immediately and takes a step back. “This is a private conversation between me and my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I correct, rubbing my wrists where his fingers have left red marks.
Brayden's gaze drops to the marks on my skin, and something shifts in his expression. The controlled fury fractures into something fierce and undeniable. In two strides, he's across the bathroom, grabbing Ethan by the throat and slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the cheap tile.
The crack of Ethan's head hitting the wall echoes in the small bathroom. I gasp, frozen in place as Brayden's massive forearm presses against Ethan's throat, lifting him until his feet barely touch the ground.
“Touch her again, and you’ll learn exactly how many bones are in the human hand.
” Brayden’s voice drops, every word edged in warning.
His grip tightens. “Those fingers that just marked her skin? I’ll take my time with each one.
And when I’m done, the only prayer you’ll remember is the one begging me to stop. ”
Ethan’s face is turning a deep, mottled purple. He claws at Brayden’s arm, choking, panicked.
I should be horrified. Should be pleading for him to stop. But there’s a vicious part of me that wants to watch Ethan struggle just a little longer.
“Brayden,” I manage finally, voice soft but steady. “Not here.”
He doesn’t spare me a glance. His entire focus remains on Ethan, his restraint pulled taut and ready to break.
“He hurt you,” Brayden growls.
“I know.” I step closer, placing my hand on his tensed shoulder. “But I don't want you arrested for murder in a bathroom. He’s not worth it.”
For a terrifying moment, I think he won't listen. Then, with visible restraint, he eases the pressure just enough for Ethan to drag in a wheezing breath.
“You're insane,” Ethan gasps, still pinned to the wall. “I'll have you arrested for assault.”
“You’ll have me arrested?” Brayden laughs. “I just walked in on you trying to sexually assault your ex-wife in a fucking women’s restroom, motherfucker.”
“Go ahead,” Ethan wheezes, his face still flushed with anger and lack of oxygen. “You think anyone in this town will believe your word over mine? A convicted felon versus a respected businessman?”
Brayden's grip tightens again, and I can see the muscles in his forearm flexing with restraint. “I bet there are cameras out in that hallway that show you following her into the bathroom. Why would a ‘respected businessman’ need to be in a women’s restroom?”
“She came onto me,” Ethan spits, his gaze darting to me. “Tell him, Cece. Tell him how you've been texting me, begging me to meet you.”
“What?” I nearly choke on my disbelief. “You're delusional.”
“Show me your phone,” Brayden demands, his free hand already extending toward me. “Now.”
I fumble in my pocket, pulling out my cell and unlocking it before handing it to him. “Look at whatever you want. He's lying.”
Brayden keeps Ethan pinned with one arm while scrolling through my messages with the other. His jaw clenches as he finds nothing.
“You're pathetic,” he tells Ethan, tossing my phone back to me. “A fucking liar on top of everything else.”
“She—she must’ve deleted them,” Ethan stammers, thrashing weakly in Brayden’s grip.
Brayden doesn’t even blink.
He slams Ethan into the wall so hard the drywall cracks. “Enough.”
Ethan gasps, but Brayden leans closer. “Here's what's going to happen.
You're going to walk out of here, back to your little Barbie doll slut, and you’re going to erase Cece from your brain.
If I find out you've been within fifty feet of her, I will make sure the pieces of your body will never be fucking found.”
Ethan’s gaze flicks between us, calculation slowly replacing fear. “You can’t threaten me.”
“It’s not a threat,” Brayden says flatly. “It’s a promise. One I have no problem keeping, asshole.”
The look on Ethan’s face shifts from defiance to something I rarely seen in him—genuine fear. His focus darts around the small bathroom, searching for an exit, but Brayden’s massive frame leaves no way out.
“You’re fucking crazy,” Ethan snarls, trying to put on a brave front, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.
With one final shove, Brayden slams him back against the wall before stepping away.
Ethan slumps forward, gasping, one hand rubbing at the angry red marks on his throat.
“Get out,” Brayden says. His voice is quiet now, dangerous. “Now.”
Ethan straightens his collar, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. When he finally looks at me, his expression is stripped of charm or mockery—just cold, festering hate.
“This isn't over, Cece.”
“It's been over for a long time.”
Ethan pushes past Brayden, careful not to touch him, and stumbles toward the door. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at us.
“You two deserve each other,” he spits, then he's gone, the broken door swinging behind him.
As soon as he disappears, my knees suddenly buckle. The adrenaline that kept me standing during the confrontation drains away all at once, leaving me shaking. Brayden is at my side instantly, his arm around my waist, the only thing keeping me upright.
“I've got you,” he murmurs, guiding me to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Breathe, Cece. Just breathe.”
I try to do what he says, but my lungs feel restricted, every breath too shallow. My hands won’t still, and the red marks on my wrists seem to beat along with my frantic pulse.
“He grabbed me,” I whisper, staring at the angry welts. “He actually put his hands on me.”
Brayden kneels in front of me, gently taking my hands in his. His thumbs brush over the marks on my wrists, touch feather-light despite the anger still simmering just beneath the surface.
“I should’ve killed him.”
“No.” I shake my head, suddenly desperate to make him understand. “That’s what he wants. He wants you to snap so he can use it against me.”
Brayden’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Smart bastard.”
“Not smart enough to know I’d never go back to him.” I swallow hard, fighting the nausea crawling up my throat. “The things he said…”
“Were lies,” Brayden finishes, his fingers still circling my wrists in slow, calming motions. “Every word out of that fucker’s mouth was a lie.”
I nod, but I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. Ethan’s voice still echoes in my head—cruel, cutting. The words settle like barbs beneath my skin. What if there was truth in them? What if I really had been…
“Hey.” Brayden’s voice cuts through my spiral. He tilts my chin up, coaxing me to meet his gaze. “Whatever he said before I got in here—whatever’s putting that look on your face—it’s bullshit. You know that, right?”
I try to nod, but tears spill instead. “He said I was frigid. That I was the reason he cheated. Because I was…inadequate.”
The muscle in Brayden’s jaw twitches. Fury pours off him, but he doesn’t move to leave. Doesn’t explode. Instead, he takes a slow, controlled breath and cups my face with surprising tenderness.
“Listen to me. His kind ruins you and then tells you to apologize for it.”
“But what if—”
“No.” His thumb sweeps away a tear I didn’t even feel fall. “Do not carry his blame. Every bit of this is on him.”
“I need to get you out of here,” Brayden says, helping me to my feet. “Can you walk?”
I nod, even though my legs are unsteady, soft under me. “I’m okay.” It isn’t true, but I need the words to hold.
He wraps an arm around my waist as we move toward the door. I keep my head down, not wanting to see the stares that are surely waiting for us in the restaurant. The last thing I need is to become even more of a spectacle for the town gossips.
We step through the doorway and nearly collide with an elderly woman standing right outside. Her silver hair is pulled into a tight bun, and her faded blue eyes widen at the sight of us emerging from the women's restroom together.
“Mrs. Holloway,” I manage, recognizing my father's long-time church secretary. Of all the people to witness this moment.
Her gaze travels from my face to my wrists, then to the splintered bathroom door hanging off its hinges. Something shifts in her expression—not the judgment I expect, but something softer, almost knowing.
“Are you alright, dear?” she asks.
“She's fine,” Brayden answers as he maneuvers past her, ignoring the question. Instead of going up front, Brayden leads me further down the hallway until we come to a service entrance door. He shoves it open, stepping out first before reaching back for me.
“Stay here,” he orders before disappearing around the corner towards the front of the restaurant. I hear the rumble of his motorcycle from the alley, and a few seconds later, he comes around the corner.
Brayden holds out his helmet, jaw tight. “Get on.”
My hands keep shaking as I take it. The air hits me with a clarity that feels wrong, as if nothing should look untouched after what almost happened. I fasten the strap and climb on behind him, fighting to pull in a deep breath.
The engine rumbles beneath us as he pulls away from the alley. My chest tightens, a mix of anger, shame, and relief twisting together until I can’t tell them apart.
I press my forehead against his back, eyes stinging, and let the motion of the bike pull me somewhere—anywhere—else.