32. Anna
ANNA
The only reason Damon didn’t lay Sebastian out on the pavement with half his teeth missing is because of where we were, not to mention I had to hold his arm down before he could make a swing. Ever since then, he’s been like a panther, pacing, waiting to make a kill.
Since Sebastian made it perfectly clear he already knows who Damon is, he’s also confirmed where he got his intel from. There was still a small chance that he somehow had seen a photo of me from the gala and tracked me here, but his mention of the Forester Foundation informed us otherwise.
Lillian may not run the organization, but she is one of the board members. What are the chances that my shitbag ex would just so happen to suddenly travel almost a thousand miles to work on a charity with the woman whose family and business I’ll be suing?
I’d reckon about as good as stumbling upon a four-leaf clover and a winning lottery ticket in the same place before being struck by lightning, twice.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Damon keeps reassuring me, but he can’t guarantee that. Not really. He sees the doubt in my eyes and finally stops pacing across my living room, taking my face into his hands. “I promise you. What happened last time isn’t going to happen again.”
“What about my shifts at The Slaughterhouse?” I already feel bad about having to take off the other night for the gala. I can’t keep missing work, but I also don’t feel safe being out in the open with Sebastian’s goons likely lurking nearby.
Damon kisses my nose. “I’ll have eyes on you at all times. The first sign something’s amiss, I’ll know. And if the opportunity arises where we can get to him first, I’ll take care of this fucker in every imaginable way so you’ll never have to think about him again.”
There’s such conviction in his voice that it’s impossible not to believe him. This man would kill for me, would give me the justice the law has refused. Their failure would be his gift.
“I don’t think I helped by taunting him,” I say.
He actually smirks. “Trust me, you did exactly what you needed to.”
We should both be focusing on the task at hand, but with his pent-up aggression and blatant possessiveness, I can’t stop myself from pulling him closer.
I can’t stop myself from admiring his face, and his mouth, and the feeling of him against me.
His lips capture mine, but when I pull his shirt over his head, a heavy knock pounds on the door.
Damon pulls me behind him, insisting he be the one to answer, and I’m not about to argue.
It isn’t needed.
He opens the door to find someone from the sheriff’s office asking to speak with me. I poke my head around his body and am promptly handed an envelope. For the few seconds it takes to open it, I’m terrified I’m going to see it’s an arrest warrant.
But it’s a TRO.
I burst out laughing, not doing me any favors with the woman from the Sheriff’s Office Civil Division, but the audacity is just too much. I laugh harder.
Clearly confused, Damon takes the paper from me, only needing to read the top to get the gist. “That asshole filed a temporary restraining order ? On what grounds?”
“Mr. Chadwick claims he was threatened during your interaction earlier this afternoon. She can argue against the measure if she wants, but there isn’t much else she can do until the hearing, which is usually scheduled in a few weeks,” the woman says, pointing at me.
We listen to the rest of the spiel, and by the time Damon closes the door on her, his aggression is at a fever pitch.
“That motherfucker is dead.”