He slows as he walks past us, raising his eyebrows as his gaze flickers between me and Breanna. When the bastard settles his eyesight back on me again, he has the balls to smirk.

Something’s wrong—off. Breanna shrinks and it takes less than a heartbeat for the deadly thoughts to click together. Breanna raced out of the club Friday night after this asshole confronted her. Breanna said we weren’t alone, and my own thoughts about how some girls look at a certain group of guys haunt me.

Kyle Hewitt is a dead man.

Chevy joins me, no doubt sensing the storm that’s preparing to make landfall. “You all right?”

“I need you to cover me.” I barely catch his agreement as I start after Hewitt. Breanna’s on my heels, talking, pleading. Begging me to stop so she can explain. She can explain, after I throw Hewitt into a wall and hear him beg for mercy for whatever he did to make her cry.

Hewitt has no clue I’m behind him as he struts down the middle of the hallway like a duck with an ego complex. People say shit as they see him. All fucking giggles until they spot me and they understand that I’m the reaper and Hewitt has seconds to live.

“Razor, please!” Breanna says loud enough that Hewitt turns. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent scream as I grab him and shove him into the bathroom.

Two guys are at the urinal and finish their business quickly as they watch me push Hewitt again. Hewitt’s shoulder bangs into the wall of the stalls and I barrel after him. The other guys run out. I should be shocked as hell when Breanna appears in front of me, but I’m not. The girl can be a force of nature when she chooses.

“Stop it!” Both of her hands are out and her folders are gone. “You have to stop.”

I don’t acknowledge Breanna. In fact, I look over her at Hewitt, who’s trying not to piss himself as he holes up in the corner of the bathroom. “You have thirty seconds to explain why Breanna’s upset.”

“Or you’ll what?” He attempts a big and bad bravado, but his hands quake.


Or I’ll throw him into the cement-block wall, smash his head into the mirror, and then I’ll crack his skull on the sink. “I’m creative. Get talking.”

“People will come in here!” Breanna says.

No, they won’t. Chevy’s guarding the door. “Twenty seconds, Hewitt.”

“She didn’t tell you?” he spits.

“Ten.” I advance a foot.

He straightens for my attack yet yells at Breanna, “If he hits me, it’ll go up and it’ll never stop! That’s not the only picture. They’ll all go up.”

All I see is red. Pictures. Breanna. The image of Violet crying uncontrollably at my house as she sobbed, That picture has ruined my life.

Breanna hijacks my arm as I launch myself at the bastard. “He’s blackmailing me to write his papers! And he’s doing it with a picture of me and you together.”

Her desperation claws at me. “Nothing happened.”

“But it looks like something happened.” Her fingers dig into my skin.

“Yeah, it does.” The pride in Hewitt’s voice causes me to imagine killing him seven different ways until Sunday. He holds out his cell, and if it weren’t for Breanna’s grasp on my arm, reminding me that she’s here, I’d tear off his balls and shove them down his throat.

Friday night seemed like a dream to me. Her so close, the feel of her soft skin. Her laughter, her trust, the two of us sharing intimate details of our lives, and in front of me is a picture that makes dirty for her a night I enjoyed. This damn snapshot could destroy her reputation.

“Are you suicidal, Hewitt?” I ask in a low tone. “Because it feels like you’re begging someone to slit your throat.”

He laughs like what I said is a joke. “You really are banging her, aren’t you? I had no idea what we were going for was correct.”

The crazy residing in me fractures and Breanna shouts my name as I bolt forward, curl my fingers into Hewitt’s shirt and slam him into the wall. I’m eye to eye with the asshole and overpronounce my words in case he’s a stupid son of a bitch. “You will not disrespect her.”

His hands are on my wrists and he fails at freedom. Hewitt’s face stains red and he breathes hard as I probably knocked the wind out of him. “I’m holding the cards, not you.”

“Tell me who’s mixed up in this.” I give him another shove. “Tell me or I will start throwing my fist into your face until you cry.”

“Razor!” Breanna’s next to us. “I’ll write the papers. Please let him go!”

No fucking way. He’s torturing her and he’s using me to do it.

Hewitt tries to kick me, but I’m stronger. “Leave, Breanna. Let me handle this.”

He angles forward to gain my attention. “I will destroy her by the end of the day.”

“Razor, please!” Breanna cries. “That picture can’t go live. I’m begging you, let him go!”

The despair in her voice unbalances me, and for some screwed-up reason, I’m listening. She’s asking the impossible. I don’t back down from a fight. Everyone knows this and the fact I’m hesitating because she asked confuses the hell out of me.

“Please, Razor,” she whispers, and it’s then that I notice her touch on my arm. It’s a gentle caress. One that causes the buzzing in my head to vanish. “Let him go.”

I do, and Hewitt places space between us as he rights his shirt. “You’re crazy, Turner.”

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