“Morning, Fields.” His voice is oiled with enough arrogance to make me want to smash his smug face. “Back to check the car?”
“We need to talk.” The words slip out like a warning, low and steady.
He smiles. “About what?”
“What do you want from Annabelle?”
His grin deepens. “Ahh, my Belle told you about me? Fascinating?—”
No.
My gut twists.
The bastard just confirmed they are connected. And why the fuck does he call her “my Belle”?
I should walk away. Be smart. But all I can see is Annabelle’s face when she flinches from my touch. I can hear the fear in her voice. And I imagine all her unseen bruises that feel like scars on my own chest.
I step forward. “She’s missing her underwear and that fancy face cream.”
My eyes dart to the nightstand and her mocking tub of vanilla lotion.
Mike pulls a scrap of lace from his pocket, dangling it like bait.
“Looks like Belle’s been settling back in,” he says, voice slick. “Shame she’s still so careless—leaving personal items behind.”
I don’t think. I move.
My fist smashes into his jaw.
A crunch echoes through my bones as he staggers back. Pain blooms in my knuckles, but fury swallows it whole.
He laughs, rubbing his jaw. “Touched a nerve?”
Before he can blink, I slam him against the wall.
My forearm crushes his throat.
“You stay the fuck away from her.”
He grins, teeth flashing. “Or what?”
“I’ll kill you.”
The words rip out of my throat like a vow.
I won’t let anyone break Annabelle the way Sarah was broken.
She’s the only thing that’s made me feel alive in years.
Mike chuckles, low and bitter. “Still using the wrench you beat Huntz with?”
My blood turns to ice.
He leans in, voice dark and close. “Orange jumpsuit isn’t your color—nor Belle’s. So choose your words carefully, Fields. I know more than you fucking think.”
I press harder. “And I don’t make empty threats.”
His smirk widens, twisted. “Relax. I’m in town on business. Maybe I’ll make some money in that little race you run here. Either way, Belle will come back to me, sooner or later.”
