Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“Who the hell did he touch?” Sledge asks, a growl in his voice.
He looks toward Liza immediately, but she shrugs, averting her eyes from mine the second they accidentally find my gaze. That’s when my pulse rattles around in my ears, and I feel heat climbing up my limbs when Liza’s eyes then move toward my closed door at the top of the stairs.
I almost feel like I’m coming out of my skin as I stalk toward Jessie, who is pulling himself off the floor, calling Axle a string of names that don’t even make a damn bit of sense.
Before he can charge Axle, I grab him back by the scruff of his neck, and toss him to the floor like he’s a weak shit instead of a raging bull. He turns, rage seething from him, but the second his eyes reach mine, fear instantly flicks across his features.
“Who did you fucking touch?” I bark, barely keeping myself from reaching for Dash’s gun beside me.
If he fucked her, I’ll kill him. There’s no question about it. I almost want to kill him for thinking of touching her.
“She’s a fucking Marks,” Jessie growls, fear replaced by anger once again as he leaps to his feet, glaring down at me since he has at least a good two inches of height on almost everyone in the room.
I snap. My fist flies and connects with his face, pummeling his cheek so hard that I feel something break under the contact. I’m not sure if it’s my hand or his jaw that just broke, but it doesn’t stop me from landing punch after punch.
Every sound around us drowns down, and Jessie barely manages to connect a few weaker, less strategic hits on me. Either he hits like a bitch, or I’m too pissed to feel anything.
“Enough!” Pop roars, but I’ll be damned if he stops me. This is my warehouse. My club. And that’s my fucking girl in my fucking room.
Hands are suddenly grappling me, hauling me off Jessie as he falls to the floor. His eyes roll back in his head as he passes out. His jaw is definitely broken, but my hand is aching. It’s the only pain I feel.
“We can’t even have a damn meeting without you assholes acting like dumb fucks,” Pop says, shaking his head as his furious gaze turns to me. “And, Drex, what the hell?” he growls.
I glare over at him, and I see Rush has a cocked eyebrow, as if to say, “I fucking told you so.” But I ignore him and Pop’s disappointed face.
“He touched what was mine, and you think I should just let him? I don’t let people disrespect me in my own house.” It’s all I can do to speak. I need to go check on Eve, but I don’t want anyone seeing her as my weakness.
She’s not. At least, she shouldn’t be.
Something about her delicate innocence seems to always make my protective instincts roar to life. And Jessie… That fucker needs to die.
“Get Jessie home,” Pop says on a sigh, talking to one of his men. “And let’s wrap this party up before more testosterone is flying. We’ll resume this meeting at another time.”
I shrug off the assholes holding me, and I walk over to Axle who is still glaring at Jessie like he wants him dead as badly as I do.
“What’d he do?” I demand.
Axle’s jaw tenses before he looks at me. “I don’t know. She’s terrified right now, and she freaked out when I tried to talk to her. I came up to find out what she wanted to eat since the girls brought so much food, but I found him behind her, her dress raised up, and his pants down.”
My stomach lurches, and he pauses, bracing himself for me to explode. Somehow I rein it in, and he continues.
“I didn’t see much before I was on him, knocking him off her. She’s not speaking.”
Fuck!
I turn, ready to finish off Jessie, but Pop is right there, pushing me back as though he was expecting it.
“I’ll handle Jessie. He’s mine. You go check on the girl; make sure she’s not broken.”
For the first time in my life, I actually want to punch my own father. None of my guys would have tried this shit because I don’t allow it. I don’t tolerate that fucking shit.
Instead of trying deal with Pop while I’m still fuming, I turn around and jog toward the stairs. I take three steps at a time, hurtling myself toward the room.
The second the door opens, I hear a whimper, and my stomach sinks when I see her tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, and bruised arms. The need to fucking hit something almost strangles me, and I have to fight off the vibrating fury that is racing through my veins.