I turn back around. “What did he do?” Unconsciously, she’s massaging her sore, swollen wrists and I can’t fucking take any more. Wrath sweeps over me like some biblical hurricane. “Heforcedhimself on you?!”
“I don’t know the first thing about it... maybe I misunderstood him, maybe—”
I jump outside, slamming the door hard enough that the widows shake before she has a chance to finish the sentence. I’ve never felt so unhinged. I don’t know whether to walk, sit or stand. Twice in one night someone tried to hurt her.Twice.
I swear under my breath, yanking the back door open. “Name and address. Rightnow,” I seethe, and the tone of my voice must tell her not to fucking argue.
“Aaron Jones. He lives on South Evans Avenue.”
Luca knows where to go when I take the passenger seat again. I make a mental list of things I’ll do to the motherfucker who touched Layla before shoving him in the trunk. Romeo’s heading for a sad, imminent end.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at the dumpy street. Houses with lawns the size of my ensuite bathroom stand close together. Shitty old cars are parked in the driveways, and most street lamps don’t work.
“Which house?” I ask. After a moment of silence, I find Layla curled in her seat once more, holding herself in a tight hug. Those should be my arms around her. “Whichhouse?”
She bites her cheek, stalling. “It’s nice that you care, but I’m not sure if he wanted to...” Her cheeks burn scarlet. “I panicked. Maybe a blatantnowould’ve stopped him.”
“Are you this naïve, or are you lying because you’re scared I’ll break his legs?” andhands, and jaw. And turn his spine into a fucking jigsaw.“Neither your wrists nor your neck would look like this if he wasn’t trying to hurt you. Tell me which house, or I’ll wake the whole goddamn street.”
Layla sits up, flips the light, and looks into the rear-view mirror, the tips of her fingers ghosting the bruise across her neck. She tilts her head, examining two cuts on her cheek, the white of her skin a dramatic contrast to the dried blood.
She falls back, eyes wide. I think she’s ready to throw up. “It’s that one there.” She points at the third house down the short road.
“Stay,” I tell Luca when he unbuckles his seatbelt, ready to serve the fucker some justice. “He’s mine. Make sure she stays inside. Don’t let her out of the car.”
The lock clicks when I close the door behind me, strolling up the short driveway. My muscles tense with every step. The ability to retaliate for Layla keeps me in a relatively rational mindset. Otherwise, I would’ve emptied the clip of my gun into the night sky by now.
I kick the door down fireman style. A narrow staircase opposite the entrance takes me upstairs, where I break down another door. Torn out of sleep, Romeo switches the night lamp on, illuminating the tiny bedroom.
“Good evening.” I fist his t-shirt and hurl him at the wall as if he weighs no more than a bag of sugar.
He might be brawny, but he doesn’t stand a chance with the pure fury coursing through my veins.
“What the hell?” He scrambles back to his feet, lips parted, eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you? What’s going on?!”
“Dante Carrow.” I send my right hook sailing through the air to land on his jaw. “You touchedmygirl.”
Romeo covers his nose to stop the bleeding. “I haven’t touched anyone! I swear, I—”
Another blast, and the first bone cracks under my knuckles. Many more will break before I’m done. His neck will be last. I grip him by the collar of his t-shirt and send him tumbling down the stairs. His ribs crack, the sound bringing a sick smile to my lips.
“So, you’re saying Layla bruised herself? You’re saying you didn’t try to fuck her?”
Romeo lands face first on the cream carpet downstairs, whimpering. He holds onto the wall for support, shaking like a leaf as he tries to haul himself back up. “I didn’t know she’s yours!” he cries, bloodshot eyes looking everywhere except my face. “Please, just—”
Another blast cuts him off mid-sentence. What the fuck does it matter whose she is? Even if she were single, drunk, or clingy, it wouldn’t justify rape. Nothing does.
“Please.” He clutches his ribs. “I didn’t... she ran!”
I grip Romeo’s neck when he takes a chance at fleeing. I cut his legs out from under him, so he lands back on the ground. His head bounces off the concrete one step outside the door, and he briefly loses consciousness.
I crouch beside him, yanking him by his short hair. “You should thank God Layla’s in the car, or you’d be pumped full of lead by now. But she’s watching, and seeing her scared drives me fucking insane, so call it your lucky day. You get to pray in the trunk for a little while longer.”
The Beretta 92 in my holster is fully loaded and ready to go. Fifteen rounds of ammunition, all destined for Romeo’s head.
I drag him to the car, deaf to his pleas. Luca steps outside, opens the trunk, and helps me haul Romeo in.
Layla chooses that moment to jump out of the car. “Leave him alone!” Her tiny fists connect with my shoulder. “He’s had enough! Let him go!”