“What the fuck Emmy?!”
“We’re going.”
“I’m busy.” He motions with his eyes to the girl next to him.
“He’s married!” I shout at her. “Did you know that? Or you don’t care ’cause you just want to be known as a whore?”
The girl stands up on her platform heels, her skimpy dress pulling up past her knees. She has way too much mascara on that you could barely see her eyes in between her thick lashes. “Who you calling a whore?”
“Uh . . . you?” I bark with a smile, crossing my arms.
I could see the look of shock on Karl’s face. He wanted drama—he got drama. Emerson Chase has her gloves on, ready to fight anyone who crosses her path.
She launches herself right at me; Ash trying to hold her back while I shout profanities that would make a sailor proud. This was all his fault; he couldn’t keep his dick in check like every other man. I was so sick of it, and perhaps the alcohol wasn’t helping me, only heightening my emotions to the point where I had no control anymore.
My body jerks back, a hand restraining me, removing me from the space where that ditsy whore tried to pull my hair. She fought like a fucking girl.
“C’mon Emmy. Just leave them alone,” Logan grits.
I pull away from him. “Because you condone that?”
Whore launches for me again, calling me a reality-TV slut. She shouldn’t have said that but wriggling my way out of Logan’s grip is near impossible. He was stronger than I anticipated.
“Ash. Control her,” Logan warns him. “I’m taking Emmy home.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Well I’m taking you anywhere but here.”
Logan drags me away; Karl struggling to follow. We are almost at the front when Wes stops me at the door, blocking the entrance. His eyes are wild with jealously; his veins prominent and scattered amongst his red face.
“You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“Get out of the way.” Logan raises his voice, keeping his grip on me tight.
“I said,” Wesley almost spits. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“You know what? Fuck you! You don’t own me, Wesley Rich!” I yell into his face. “Go back to your sofa full of sluts!”
The adrenalin running through my veins gives me the strength to pull away from Logan and push past Wesley until the cool air graces my skin. Seeking some sort of escape, I spot our limo and jump in demanding the driver to take me home.
I bury my head into my legs when I hear the door open, trying to still my heart to no avail. I just didn’t understand life—at this moment—or why all the men in my life had this need to act the way they did.
I don’t look up immediately; smelling him instantly. I hated that he smelled so good.
“You’re not going home.”
“I can handle my own,” I argue back, defeated, on the verge of tears.
“Why are you angry at me?”
“Because you’re all the same. Ash is no fucking different and you’re his best friend.”
“We’re not the same, Emerson. And I will not allow you to go home.”
“It’s not like he is going to get his way.”
“Excuse me?”