Chapter 10
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Iwasn’t going to pretend I wasn’t a violent man.
My whole need for control stemmed from that deep-seated brutality within me.
I’d been in fights with foster fathers, with classmates, and players from opposing teams. I knew I had a vicious soul.
But I’d never realized just how vicious it was until I sat in a booth at the Ramore Hotel bar, nursing a whiskey, watching Lucy do tequila shots with some douchebag finance bro who was much too old for her.
I was in a shadowed corner where she wouldn’t notice me, making it easy to stew in my possessive rage as she flirted with the blond asshole.
Even knowing I’d pushed her to do this, that this was my fault, didn’t lessen the need to punish her for her reckless behavior.
I balled my free hand into a fist as if that would keep me from storming across the bar and punching that fucking asshole in the face.
And then I’d shove Lucy over the bar, deliver swat after swat to her ass until it was glowing red and she and every other jackass in the place knew she was mine, right before I fucked that virgin pussy and claimed her for good…
The bartender currently serving Lucy and the douchebag flirting with her glanced up and caught my eyes.
His went wide—very wide. I couldn’t see myself, but I must have looked scary enough to disturb him, so I turned back to my drink, trying to pretend I was lost in thought instead of staring at the beautiful vixen as she sucked on a lime and every man’s head swiveled to watch her do it.
I palmed the top of the glass like I wanted to palm my dick.
The thing was, Lucy wasn’t unaware of her beauty.
She knew she was beautiful. She liked it.
She used it. It didn’t turn me off, if anything, it made me respect her more for it.
Her confidence made my cock hard, and even though I wanted to blind every other man in that bar, I didn’t blame her for embracing her sexuality head on.
Plucking out all those other jackasses’ eyeballs sounded like a good time, though.
Lucy said something to the man, and whatever he said in response made her jaw drop.
She shook her head, her hair flying everywhere—hair I wanted to see spread across my pillow, not whipping some asshole in the face.
I gripped the top of the glass tight in my hand. Could I convince her to wear a wig?
And then all thoughts of wigs disappeared as when that motherfucking cocky asshole, who must have had a death wish even if he didn’t realize it yet, grabbed Lucy’s hair and tugged her head back.
And fucking kissed her.
Kissed Lucy.
My Lucy.
Mine.
There was the slam of glass on solid wood, the tinkling sound of something breaking, and then sharp, burning pain shot through my hand.
Curious as to why, I glanced down, only to see crushed shards everywhere.
In my anger, I’d slammed my whiskey down hard on the table while squeezing the top, and the force must have cracked the lip, cutting my hand in the process.
This motherfucking bar. Not only did they make it easy for douchebags to prey on women, they also didn’t even make their fucking drinkware strong enough to withstand some physical pressure.
As I rose to go give the fucking bartender a piece of my mind—and drag Lucy the fuck out of here in the process, and maybe use a broken shard to stab the man she was with—she slid off the barstool.
And then put her goddamn hand in his.
And led him out the bar.
Oh, absolutely the fuck not.
I must have thrown my drink, because I heard a shout and then more glass shattering. Rising from the booth, blood trickling down my hand, I approached the bartender. He was still watching me, shaking his head.
“I should throw you out of the bar,” he told me.
“Do you know what that fucker said to her before they left?” I demanded, ignoring his half-assed threat.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Why? Angry to see your daughter out and about?”
“She’s not my fucking daughter,” I told him.
He nodded. “I figured. Fathers usually don’t react that way.” Pointing at my hand, he asked, “Need me to clean that up for you?”
I shook my head. “I keep a first aid kit in my car.”
It had come in handy various times in my life, including when Lucy had scraped up her knee as a kid, but I’d never expected to have to use it in a situation like this.
“Do you know what he said to her?” I asked again.
“I’m sure you can guess, man,” the bartender said. “Look—”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest as I headed out of the bar and the hotel to the parking lot. I assumed the combination of cool, fresh air and dark night would have calmed me down some.
It did the opposite. As I walked through the lobby, I noted which floor the elevator had stopped on: nine. That must be where Lucy was.
Every step I took toward my car was a step further away from Lucy.
Every breath I took was an opportunity for him to touch her.
I unlocked my car, ripping open the glove compartment so hard, the handle came off.
Tossing it onto the seat, I pulled out my first aid kit before striding back into the hotel toward a bathroom.
“Sir,” someone called, likely alarmed that I was leaving a trail of blood in my wake.
I ignored them, storming toward the men’s bathroom and heading inside, where I quickly cleaned and bandaged the cut, tossed the bloody paper towel I’d used to clean myself up in the trash and walked to the elevator, jamming my finger impatiently on the up button.
Every second that ticked by was another second that man could be touching what was mine, tasting what was mine, fucking what was mine—
If I’d had another glass, I’d have smashed that one, too.
Finally, the elevator arrived, and I stepped inside. An older couple joined me, watching me warily as if I was someone dangerous. They were right. I was someone dangerous, just not to them.
But that finance douchebag better hope he hadn’t touched her, and he better also hope he could run fucking fast.
Because if he had touched her and he couldn’t run at the speed of light?
I was going to motherfucking kill him.