Fury vibrates down my spine.
“What’s wrong?” Aspen turns to face the crowd.
“Who is that?” I grit the question between clenched teeth.
She follows my line of sight to the man watching Savannah’s ass as she walks away from the auction tables.
“That’s the mayor’s younger brother. I heard he just moved back to town.”
My knuckles pop as I clench my fists.
“Please don’t kill him here.” Aspen knows me too well. Though it’s not like it’s hard to read the distraught look on Savannah’s face. “Please, King,” she repeats.
Savannah’s eyes catch mine as she hurries toward me.
“I won’t kill him here,” is all I promise.
Savannah is just a few steps away now, and she spares a weary glance at Aspen.
Neither of them say anything, and I watch Savannah work to keep her emotions in check.
I reach out and wrap my hand around the back of Savannah’s neck, my hold on her gentle, even though rage fills my blood as I pull her to me.
Her lips are still set into a hard line when I lean down and softly press my own against her temple.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I promised her safety, and at the first test of my power, I failed.
Blackness edges in on my vision and I kiss her once more.
I shouldn’t have let her walk through this place alone. I should’ve made a big fucking scene the moment we walked in, so everyone knew exactly who she was. Exactly who she belonged to.
My eyes scan the room.
I should just slit the throat of every man here and save myself the future hassle. I’m sure most of them deserve it.
When I pull back, Savannah’s blinking even more rapidly. And I feel like an even bigger failure since my attempt at comfort seemed to have the opposite effect.
Aspen taps my arm and I look up to see the man walking toward the hallway that leads to the bathroom.
“Stay with Aspen,” I tell Savannah, before I press my lips to her temple once more.
I give her neck a light squeeze, looking for a response.
“Okay, Husband,” she whispers.
Husband.
I force myself to let go of her, just as Nero and Payton walk up.
“With me,” I tell Nero, and he peels away from his wife, stepping into stride with me.
“Who’re we killing?” His tone is casual.
“I promised Aspen I wouldn’t.”
He makes a humming sound. “Still leaves a lot of wiggle room.”
We make it to the back hall in time to see the man enter the bathroom about ten paces before us.
Silently, we follow him in.
It’s a classy bathroom with four well-built stalls, with wooden walls and doors that go to the floor.
Two of them are occupied, and there’s one guy washing up at the sink.
We peel off, Nero going to the sink to wash his hands, and I go into the open stall between the two in use.
The water shuts off, and I hear Nero start to whistle, which I assume is to cover the sound of him locking the bathroom door, preventing anyone else from coming in.
With sink guy gone, I flush the toilet and step out of the stall, standing against the wall opposite, waiting to see who comes out first.
Nero keeps whistling when the farthest stall door opens, and my target starts to step out.
I rush him.
He’s smaller than me. Weak. The type who feels strong by intimidating women. The type of disgusting piece of shit I’d happily put bullets in all day long.
Nero’s whistling gets louder––is that somewhere over the rainbow?––and I hear him turn the water back on as I crowd the man back into the stall.
The man opens his mouth to protest, but before he can so much as squeak, I grip his throat and squeeze, cutting off all his air.
The struggle that follows is typical. It’s the body’s natural response to being choked. But this isn’t the first time I’ve strangled a man, so it’s hardly a fair fight.
But I didn’t make it to where I am by fighting fair.
I stomp down on both his feet with mine, pinning them in place with my greater weight, hopefully crunching some of those fragile toe bones.
His hands grapple with my arm, trying to free my grip, but I just lean into him, crushing him against the sturdy stall wall with my larger size.
I put my face close to his. “If you rip my suit, I will break your neck.”
His hands switch from clawing at me, to just trying to push me away.
Useless.
The toilet flushes in the other stall, and then we listen as Nero starts up a conversation with the man ending with, “Let me get that.” And I know he’s using slight of hand to unlock the main door as he opens it.
When the door shuts, silence descends in on the bathroom.
I let go of the man’s throat as Nero uses his foot to swing the stall door open, before leaning against it.
“What’d he do?” Nero slides his hands into his pockets.
The man’s gasps turn into coughing. Loud coughing.
Nero starts whistling again to cover the sound.
“He touched my wife.”
Savannah’s back was to me when she was at the auction table, but her reaction to that man’s closeness could only mean one thing. And the way his eyes bug out when he looks up at me confirms I’m correct.
Nero’s hands slide out of their pockets, and I see he’s got a switch blade in one, the tempo of his song slowing to a sinister soundtrack.
“No killing him, remember,” I remind him.
The man tries to speak at this, but he’s still struggling to breathe properly.
If he just moved here, he might not know who we are. But he can feel who we are. He can feel the danger he’s in.
I make sure he can see the anger I’m feeling. “If I ever see your face again, I will cut your throat so deep your head will beat your body to the floor.”
Leaning against the wall, he nods frantically, while rubbing at his throat.
Looking like he understands.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“So,” I roll my neck out. “When you can use your arms again, you’re going to pack up and leave the state. Because if you don’t, I will see you. And I will kill you.”
I watch him mouth the word arms before I dart my hands out.
Grabbing his wrist in one hand, I grip behind the elbow of the same arm with my other hand. He starts to struggle, but holding tight, I forcefully jerk his elbow the wrong way, forcing it through the body’s natural resistance.
The sounds of snapping as it gives way is the perfect percussion to Nero’s tune.
The man, whose name I still don’t know, starts to scream in pain, but Nero moves closer, crowding into the stall, and clamps his non-knife hand around the man’s throat, once again cutting off his air and stifling his sounds.
Eyes rolling, the man tries to reach for his damaged arm with his good one. Accepting the offered limb, I grab that wrist too.
He tries to shake his head, because he knows what’s coming next, but no amount of pleading or begging would stop me.
I force his arm straight and grip his elbow, his other arm worthless in the fight against me. “You deserve to die for touching what’s mine. Consider this a kindness.”
Then, with faster movement than he deserves, I snap his second elbow backwards.
The cracking vibrates up my arms, filling me with satisfaction.
Nero’s whistling drops to a low note before he drops his hand and fakes a shiver. “Man, I felt that crack though his neck.”
“Makes us even for that pinky finger,” I tell Nero, who only snorts in response.
Then, because the fucker deserves it, I knee the man as hard as I can in the balls.
As he gasps for air, I shove his hunched over form onto the toilet.
To make sure he hears what I say next, I bend down until I’m right in his face. “I know you’re going to want revenge. And I know you think your brother will be able to help you. But he can’t. Because we are The Alliance. And we own this fucking city.”
When we step out of the bathroom, I notice Nero’s hung an out of order sign on the door, but I don’t have the patience to ask him where the fuck he found it.
I need to get back to Savannah.
I need my wife.
