They understood instantly. Better yet, not one of them tried to talk me down.
“His name,” Axel demanded, playboy facade burned away. “Give us his name.”
“Eric Voss.”
Jace was already making calls. Axel’s fingers flew across his phone. Ryker’s hand landed on my shoulder, solid as steel.
“He hurt your sister,” Jace said to him, voice deadly quiet. “In forty-eight hours, Eric Voss won’t know what hit him.”
Brotherhood wasn’t always about defense. Sometimes, it was about demolition. And Eric Voss? He was about to learn what happened when you hurt someone under our protection.
He didn’t just pick the wrong girl to hurt. He picked the wrong family to face.
39
TESSA
I paced the penthouse like a caged tiger, my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline. It was a wonder that I’d been able to get any work done today after Blake had snuck out. After he’d betrayed me by taking something that didn’t belong to him, something that was so private that I couldn’t believe he’d dared taken it.
All day, I’d had to be productive. Frantically searching for wedding locations that had any cancellations. Sadly, one other bride and groom had called it quits two days ago, so I’d snagged a coveted venue, one that my bride was thrilled about. It took hours to do the paperwork, do the tour, and then I came back to this empty place. Pacing.
When the elevator finally pinged, I whirled around, my heart leaping into my throat. Blake stepped out, and one look at his face made my stomach drop.
“Where were you?”
“Out.” His tone was clipped, controlled.
“Did you take that letter off my dresser?”
“You’re a smart girl, Tessa. You already know the answer to that.”
“That letter was private!” With humiliating taunts from a sadistic bully.
Blake stalked past me toward the kitchen, his jaw set in that stubborn line I knew too well.
I followed him, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floors, watching as he retrieved a bag of frozen vegetables from the pristine stainless steel freezer.
“Give us a minute,” he barked at his chef.
She scurried out, leaving dinner half prepared.
“Tell me you didn’t beat someone up!” I said, though the evidence was literally right there on his hands.
He pressed the makeshift ice pack against his knuckles. “Voss proved more difficult to track down than expected. The punching bag at the gym took the brunt of my frustration.”
Voss. He knew his name? When I’d told him about the attack, I’d also told him the attacker’s name?!? File that in thethat can’t be goodfolder.
“With the hand you need to treat patients with?” I balked. “What has gotten into you? You’re not some hotheaded teenager anymore, Blake. You’re a board-certified doctor with everything to lose by going after ghosts from my past.”
“That letter he sent you is very much in the present.”
“He’s not worth you risking your career by beating him up.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “I intend to do more than beat him.”
My neck sprang back. “Okay, I’m going to assume that’s a heat-of-the-moment comment, and you don’t actually mean that.”
No response.
