Page 113 of Touch of Hate
Not with a face like that.
I did more than defeat him. He’s out cold, his face a broken, bloody mess. Somewhere behind me, a woman weeps softly.
“Come on.” Scarlet tugs my arm, inspiring me to hustle us both out the door. No one bothers to stop us after they’ve seen what I’m capable of. I parked close to the entrance in case we needed to get away quickly.
As it turns out, we do.
It doesn’t occur to me until we’re rolling down the street that we never paid for dinner.
Who the fuck cares? I checked into the hotel under a fake name, and this isn’t my Jeep. Even if somebody caught sight of the tags, there’d be no tracing it back to me. We’re out of here in the morning, anyway.
Right? Am I kidding myself? Fuck, I don’t know anything anymore.
Except one thing. “I will never accept that shit from anyone. Ever.”
Scarlet shakes, whimpering, looking over her shoulder like she expects to find cars chasing us down.
“Are you okay?” she squeaks.
Am I? I’m fucking euphoric, my body humming, adrenaline still flowing. I could’ve killed the bastard, and I almost wish I had. If it hadn’t been for her presence—and the others around us—I’m not sure I could’ve stopped myself. The smug, arrogant prick.
“I’m fine.” I catch her staring at my fists and shake my head. “They’re fine, too. It doesn’t even hurt.” Not when I’m flying high the way I am now. Nothing can touch me.
“That was…” She settles back in her seat, a hand over her chest.
“Are you okay?” I know she can’t be concerned for him. I already told her I’m fine. It’s not the first time she’s ever witnessed violence.
I can’t imagine why she’s still shaking.
After keeping me waiting until we reach the hotel garage, she slowly turns to me. “I thought you were going to kill him. I thought he might actually be dead.”
“I wish I had killed him. He deserved it.” Turning to her upon parking, I stare into her shining, teary, blue eyes. She’s crying. I see it, but for some reason, I don’t feel anything. It does nothing to me. “He was a disrespectful piece of shit who thought he could take you from me.”
She continues breathing heavily like she’s teetering on the edge of panic. Her chest rising and falling so rapidly that I’m almost worried.
“Nobody’s ever taking you away from me,” I whisper, taking her face in my bloodstained hands.
She doesn’t flinch away. She wouldn’t. She can handle anything I give her because she was made for me. She was made for this.
“Nobody ever will.”
She couldn’t have chosen better words. Desire for her is always coursing through my veins, but mixed with the adrenaline still present? It’s a potent combination, powerful enough to leave me practically dragging her into the hotel. My queen, my prize. I must get her back to the suite. I need to taste victory, to claim her again. Mine, mine alone.
She doesn’t say a word until we’re in the elevator. “Ren—”
I back her into the corner, caging her in with my frame, indulging my hands in the feel of her skin as I work them under her dress.
Nothing can stop me. No one.
Which is why the tensing of her body leaves me growling, our noses touching. Only when she cringes when I attempt to work my fingers between her thighs do I demand an answer.
“What? Afraid of a little public play?”
She tries to turn her face away, eyes closed, but she’s no match for my hand on her jaw, turning her to face me. Escaping me is futile; doesn’t she already know this? Maybe she needs to be reminded.
It’s then I see the problem. My hands, the blood dried and flaking off the bruised knuckles. Instantly, I release her, and when I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall, there’s no missing the flecks of blood on my shirt.
I wouldn’t sully my angel with this asshole’s blood if my life depended on it. He wasn’t even a worthy adversary. There was no chance of him taking her from me.