Chapter 13
My run-in with Boston had unsettled me in all kinds of ways and had plagued me all week, though I hadn’t seen him again.
“You think I wanted any of this?”
His words played over in my mind, along with the way his fists had clenched at his sides when he stalked towards me. My breath quickened at the memory, but I shoved it aside.
I’d promised the guys no more secrets, so I’d told them when I’d returned home that night that Boston had been there.
It had only renewed their attempts at convincing me to accept a private security guard.
I’d protested again, and eventually Presley had forced Sinclair and Dacre to relent, but I knew that argument wasn’t over.
I was so lost in my head over the whole Boston situation that I didn’t realize I’d wandered down the wrong path at CCU. I turned to head in the right direction, smacking straight into a large male body behind me, and I jumped a mile.
“You think you’re really fucking clever, don’t you?” Trent sneered at me and I cringed back.
My expression twisted at his proximity. “What the hell are you talking about, Trent?”
He moved in closer and I sucked in a breath.
“Do you want to back up? I can smell what you ate for lunch and it was tuna.”
He scowled but didn’t move. Despite it physically paining me to concede anything to this asshat, I stepped away from him.
The memory of his hands at my throat had fear unfurling in my stomach.
That day was all I could see whenever I looked at him and that same rage burned in his eyes as he stared at me now.
“You think you’re fucking clever doxing me with random dudes and their dick pics.”
I had to bite down on the smile that threatened to spring free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, so maybe you could take your paranoid delusions elsewhere.”
“My number is on your fucking bestie’s dating profile. Arena is as boring as the Monday night news and about as smart as a sack of bricks, so I know it wasn’t her dumb ass that came up with that idea.”
My jaw clenched at the slight against Arena—one that wasn’t even remotely true—and I took a threatening step towards him.
He laughed at my reaction. “Oh no, are you going to take a swing at me? Those Aston thugs really are teaching you their violent ways.”
That word stilled me. Violent.
It was the same one I used to describe Boston. And my father. But I was nothing like them.
“Seems like I might have hit a nerve there, Dempsey.” He lifted his hand before I could react, the back of his index finger sliding down my cheek.
I slapped his hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll…”
“You’ll do what?” Trent demanded.
He grabbed my arm and the terror from the day he had me pinned against the wall by my throat came rushing back. My body locked with fear.
“You think you’re better than me? You think you can fucking dox me and I’ll do nothing? I might not be able to get to you when you’re under the protection of the Astons, but I can sure as hell get to your little friend, you stupid bitch.”
I opened my mouth to respond, ready to force out something— anything—to prove I wasn’t afraid of him, despite being completely terrified. But a thick, muscled arm wrapped around my waist from behind, hauling me away from Trent.
I glanced up with a gasp, taking in Boston’s jaw, which was set in a hard line as he stared Trent down.
“How about you take your fucking hands off her?” He glared at my tormentor, the embodiment of barely contained rage. His voice was a low rumble of warning. “And while you’re following orders, why don’t you act like your hairline and take a few steps back?”
My body trembled in Boston’s arms, and I couldn’t tell which terrifying man was causing it.
Trent’s hand went to his hair, but he snapped it back to his side when he realized what he was doing, his face twisting into a scowl. “And who the hell are you?” he demanded.
Boston’s body tensed in warning, his words cold and hard. “I’m her fucking husband.”
I prayed Presley or Dacre wouldn’t appear right now.
They’d lose it at the sight of Boston’s hands on me.
Worse if they heard him claiming to be my husband, even if it was legally true.
And who knew what the hell Trenton would do with that kind of information.
So far, we’d somehow successfully managed to keep my farce of a marriage off the radar of Byron and his lackeys, and I wanted to keep it that way.
This situation was already one hell of a mess without Byron getting involved.
Trenton had no chance of masking the surprise and disbelief on his face, but ever the asshole, he recovered fast, doing the opposite of what Boston asked and leaning in to get in my face.
“You get sick of Dacre’s whiny little bitch routine, Dempsey? Your stepbrother not cutting it in the sack anymore so you decided to permanently bind yourself to an even bigger meathead?”
I went to lunge for him for the slight against Dacre, but Boston’s strong arm tightened at my waist, holding me back.
“Easy,” he murmured in my ear. “This rat isn’t worth you splitting your knuckles over.”
Trenton’s gaze landed on Boston at my shoulder and he laughed. “Did she let you rail her twenty minutes after meeting her too, or did she make you work a little harder to pound her loose pussy than she did with me?”
This time Boston’s arm tensed so hard I was squeezed against him, his lips at my ear again. “I have no problem splitting mine though.”
Moving me to his side, one arm still wrapped protectively around me, he swung the other fist at Trenton fast and with force.
One moment Trenton was on his feet looking smug as fuck, and the next he was on the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. Boston took a step closer so he was standing over him, one arm still around me, keeping me at his side like he was worried if he let me go I might bolt.
“You ever speak about my wife like that again, you ever so much as utter her name the wrong way, and I’ll come back and finish the job. Do you hear me, you fucking weasel?”
Trenton’s only response was a long, drawn-out groan from the ground.
Boston turned away from him, guiding me down the path. I didn’t push Boston away or demand he get his hands off me. The disbelief at what had just gone down left me speechless. So I let him guide me away from Trenton like a lost lamb.
Boston had taken Trent out. For me. Because Trent talked about fucking me.
With one punch he’d levelled Trenton on my behalf, and I didn’t know how to reconcile how to feel about that. Gratitude, definitely. But something else? Hero worship, maybe?
That was pathetic.
There was no denying that watching Boston stand over a groaning Trent and demanding he stay the fuck away from me had stirred something inconvenient and previously totally unwelcome inside me. Feeling anything remotely akin to gratitude towards him was dangerous and so damn inconvenient.
“Why are you afraid of that guy?” Boston asked, eyes hard with anger.
I debated what to tell him. He wasn’t my friend or confidante. He wasn’t someone I could trust. One punch on my behalf didn’t suddenly mean I could trust him not to hurt me or tear me away from everyone I cared about.
“It’s pretty obvious from the way your whole body locks up any time he comes near you that the fucker did something.”
I fought the urge to touch my throat at the memory of what Trent had done. “He’s relentless. We hooked up, I didn’t want to do it again, and he couldn’t handle that so he got… aggressive.”
Boston was silent for a beat as we walked. “What did he do?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Pinned me to a wall and tried to choke me. And not in a hot way.”
Boston pulled us to a stop, staring down at me. Those hard eyes were completely unreadable behind his stone mask. This guy had a better poker face than Sin.
Then suddenly, the anger was gone. Like he’d done some internal woo-sah shit any decent therapist taught and reigned himself in.
He took my hand this time, and we started walking again.
I stared down at our joined hands as I trailed after him. Why was I letting this happen? Why was I allowing him to lead me through campus like he wasn’t someone trying to force me into a marriage I didn’t want?
“Did you park around here today?” Boston asked, as though he hadn’t just upended everything for me.
I shook my head. “I rode with Presley.”
He nodded once. “I’ll walk you to the parking lot and leave you. You don’t need any more problems.”
More like I didn’t need either Presley or Dacre getting knocked the heck out when they inevitably tried to defend me against Boston.
I nodded wordlessly, unsure what to say to him. Did he recognize that his presence in my life was a problem for me?
It crossed my mind that I should thank him for what he’d done for me with Trent. He’d saved me from another potentially violent encounter. But how did you thank the man who was your husband against your will, and who had just flattened a guy who was intent on ruining you?
I don’t think there were words for that.