Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Still crouched over his prey, he turned his head and met the green-eyed gaze of his president’s beloved daughter.
The utter despair in her eyes punched him in the gut ten times harder than he’d hit the piece of shit on the floor. Her dress, a short, flowy purple number, had a torn strap dangling. Her gorgeous strawberry hair, which she’d clearly spent time curling, was mussed and tangled from her boyfriend’s rough grip. Makeup she’d applied at some point ran from her eyes, streaking across her flushed cheeks and emphasizing the trauma she’d just endured.
Individually, each of those was enough to earn the boyfriend a solid beating, but when he added the bruises on her throat and the swelling on her cheek, the bastard would be lucky to survive the night.
Even traumatized and tear-streaked, she was stunning. The observation felt wrong, but his brain noted it anyway.
Shit, he’d made a mistake volunteering to be the one to check on her.
But none of that mattered now.
He rose with slow, sure movements, designed to keep from scaring her. She’d just been assaulted, then witnessed him perform a spectacular act of violence. Most likely, she wouldn’t be too keen to have another large man in her space. As softly as he could manage in size twelve boots, he crossed the distance between them and kneeled before her.
Now that he was close, she averted her gaze, staring at her updrawn knees. Her shoulders shook with silent tremors.
“Are you hurt?” he whispered.
She shook her head immediately, a jerky, automatic denial.
Yeah, he didn’t buy that. She might not be hurt enough to need medical attention, but her throat had to be raw and her face throbbing. As soon as he got her out of there, he’d make damn sure to get some ice on her cheek.
“May I touch you?”
She tensed, muscles going tight as guitar strings.
“Just to check your neck and your face,” he added, keeping his voice low.
This time, he got a nod and a raspy, “Yes.”
As he lifted his hand, both their gazes locked on his torn and bloody knuckles. “Shit,” he whispered. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” she croaked.
He grunted. “Don’t even feel it. Too much adrenaline. My fingers are clean. Promise I won’t get that bastard’s blood on you.”
Gently as he could, he lifted her chin with one fingertip. There it was again, that punch to his solar plexus when their gazes collided. Those eyes had always been bright, sassy, full of mischief. Seeing them washed out with fear made something vicious curl in his chest.
Conflicting violence and tenderness warred inside him. A huge part of him wanted to go back over to Jason and finish the job—rip him from limb to limb, make him beg for his life, only to snuff it out. But another impulse, softer and more dangerous, wanted to gather Beth in his arms and promise he’d never let her experience a moment of sadness again.
And beneath both of those lurked something he shoved down but knew would be harder to ignore once she recovered her sass and sparkle. He wanted her, plain and simple. That desire could easily land him in the same position as her boyfriend, beaten and bloodied, except Copper would be the one dealing the blows.
As gently as possible, he tilted her chin side to side, inspecting her cheek and neck. Despite how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the scowl off his face as he stared at her discolored skin. A small trail of blood ran from her lower lip, but that seemed to be the worst of the damage aside from bruising. Before he could stop himself, he traced his finger up the line of her neck, over the worst of the marks, barely skimming her soft skin.
Beth shivered as a tiny gasp escaped, but she didn’t protest.
“This ends now,” he said, forcing himself to release her and sit back on his heels before he did something foolish. “You’re safe, and that piece of shit will never touch you again.”
“Jason,” she said, voice rough. “His name is Jason.”
“I don’t give a shit what his name is, though I guess someone will need it for his obituary.”
That had her snapping into action. She dropped her knees and lunged forward, grabbing his arm. “No, Lee, you can’t. Please, you’ve done enough to him.”
He growled like a junkyard dog. “I haven’t begun to make him pay.”
She didn’t seem aware of how tightly she gripped his arm, and he tried not to enjoy the feel of her fingers denting his skin. Beneath her hold, his Hell’s Handlers brand burned like it had the night Copper had held the white-hot iron to his skin.
Fitting.
Copper would also be the one to flay it from his body if Saint didn’t do right by his daughter.
She shook her head. “Please. You said it was over, so let it be over.”