16. Bas
Bas
H e fucking groped her.
Burning rage spread through my veins like fucking acid. I brought Wynter here for a romantic getaway and because I knew she’d be safe in Priest’s club. Instead, she had to endure this fucker groping her.
Anger crept beneath my skin, searing and demanding I make him pay.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that another man wanted her. I expected hungry gazes thrown her way. She looked fucking gorgeous in her light pink skater dress and white flats that I bought her. She didn’t aim for glamorous but she came out looking like a million bucks regardless.
“Which hand did you use?” I asked one last time, my voice cold. Red rage rushed through me, drumming in my ears.
“Please, please,” he whimpered.
No amount of begging would work with me. I brought my face close to his, smiling harshly.
“Cock cutting it is,” I deadpanned, the corner of my lips lifting into a cruel smile.
I withdrew my knife and the fucker finally got the message. He shot out his right hand, shaking like a leaf. I brought my knife down on his right hand fingers, pressing the blade against his skin and already breaking the skin. Blood trickled down and he screamed like the fucking coward that he was.
“Bas.” Wynter’s small hand came to my shoulder and some of my rage slithered away. “Bas, look at me.”
Lifting my eyes, I met her face etched with worry and apprehension lingered in her emeralds. Priest attempted to pull her back but Wynter refused, pushing him away.
Her hands took my face between her palms. “He’s not worth it,” she murmured softly, her light green gaze sending calm through me. “Just give him a black eye and call it a day.”
I met her gaze that was begging me to stay calm. But the mere thought of this piece of shit touching her drove burning rage into my chest, making me see red.
“Very well,” I muttered, then sliced his index and middle finger of his right hand clean off.
His high-pitch scream filled the room, but I ignored it as I nodded at Priest. He’d know what to do. I looked around the group of people that gaped at the scene. I stood up to my full length and focused on Wynter who looked pale.
“That’s not exactly a black eye,” she said weakly, her gaze focused on me.
“He touched you,” I rasped, resting my forehead against hers.
The thought of any other man laying a hand on her sent fury down my spine and marred my vision with a red mist. The anger was so strong that I had to choke it down. For her. Yes, she accepted me for who I was but killing a man in front of her would be taking it too far.
It wasn’t rational. Or maybe it was, Fuck if I knew. My moral compass was fucked up. In my entire life, I had never regretted a single thing I’d done. There was no room for regrets in our life. Those got you killed.
“Yes, but cutting his fingers off was a bit too much,” she whispered, never breaking our eye contact.
I’d involuntarily given her a glimpse of who I truly was - for better or for worse. Either way, she had seen firsthand who I was, who I was always meant to be. And I was damn good at it. I was born on the wrong side of the law and I thrived on it.
I have never been tempted to follow the law. Today, even less so. Now I knew I’d never be able to handle seeing another man have her. Rage when this fucker touched her burned cold through my veins and I had to fight the urge to beat him some more.
My chest twisted with something unfamiliar.
She’d be mine. For the rest of my life.