I glance down at my trembling hands, damn him.
“You think you’re strong now because that douchebag dicked you down in his barn? he snarls. “You think he’s going to come save you?”
“His name is Carter!” I snap, bracing my hands against his chest, trying to push him away. “And he treated me better in one week than you have in my entire life!”
In a blistering second, his large palm cracks across my face. The sound is sharp, immediate. My head whips to the side as pain blooms across my cheek.
For a second, everything goes still.
Then the truth crashes down like a wave.
He hit me. He finally hit me.
carter
. . .
The sharp, brutal crack of metal collides with the shed wall, loud enough to rattle the whole barn. Tools clatter to the ground in a violent cascade, steel and iron hitting hay. Wood splinters, fracturing under the weight of everything I can’t say.
Everything I didn’t do.
I don’t stop, I don’t fucking care.
My hands are fucking wrecked. Splinters bite into my palms as I slam my fist into the wall again and again until the wood buckles beneath it. My chest heaves with every punch as I try to choke back the tears.
Rage pours through me like wildfire.
She’s gone, and I don’t know where the fuck she is.
That bastard took her and dragged her out of my life like she was nothing more than an object with a price tag.
And I let him. I fucking let him.
I don’t know where they’re holding this bullshit wedding. But the thought of her in that house, under his control, being shoved into a dress to marry some fucking asshole.
It’s fucking killing me. Tearing me up from the inside out. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve thrown the first punch, kicked the door down, and burned the world to keep her safe. I should’ve fought harder.
All I can think about is how I’ll rip him apart the next time I see him with no hesitation and no fucking restraint. I’ll kill him with my bare hands.
I pace the barn like an animal with my fists clenched in my hair, pulling so hard it feels like I’m going to rip the strands straight from my scalp. My lungs can’t catch air, not enough to breathe, not enough to fucking feel anything.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
Carter
Busy?
Maverick
Practicing plays. Why?
Carter
I need you, meet me at Bell’s Books. Now.
Maverick
... You okay?
