His hands are holding her loosely by her hips. Those hands I know as well as my own are on her body, against her bare skin where her scrap of a shirt has ridden up during her imitation of a bitch in heat.
In all my life, I have never felt this kind of madness. Not when my father slapped me so hard I couldn’t hear for a week, not when I got dumped for the seventh time when a job opened up under my father, and not even when Brandon ‘filthy ass’ Hunter put his disgusting hands on me.
No, this is a new kind of anger, and deep down, I know the only way to make it feel better is to take out the trash.
When I get close enough to get my hands on this troll, I don’t even have to think. I reach out, take the badly dyed, teased to the roof hair, and pull. With a yelp, her mouth loses its suction against Beck’s lips, and I rip her body off of his.
“You stupid, little slut. What makes you think you can walk into this fine establishment and start rubbing your disgusting, crusty crotch all over a man you do not know? That one, the man whose leg will need a case of bleach now, is not up for your filthy, used, and pathetic shit.” Her nails are making purchase against my wrist, trying, without success, to detach my hand from her hair. “And wash your hair, you nasty bitch.” I push my arm out, and with every single ounce of anger possessing me, I toss her to the side. I don’t even spare her another glance before turning on the man who has me in knots.
“And YOU!” I scream in his face. “You make all these promises. You have me questioning everything I have ever told myself, and second-guessing every single carefully planned path. YOU MAKE ME FEEL, DAMN YOU!” I jam my finger into his rock hard chest, taking another deep breath before continuing. “How could you make me feel, and then just give up?! I knew you would be just like the rest of them.”
I finally stop, drop my hand, and work to catch my breath. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. I take a few more deep breaths, calming myself down slightly before looking back up at his too handsome face. But when I see his smirk, that infuriatingly hot smirk, I’m knocked slightly off balance. When he lunges forward, I jump back with a shriek. That shriek turns into a grunt when he bends, puts his shoulder to my stomach, and before I know what’s happening, throws me over his shoulder.
By the time he puts me in the passenger seat of his truck, buckles my seatbelt, and has the truck speeding down the road, I finally wake the hell up from my shock.
What in the . . .”You did not just kidnap me?” I yell.
“You’re damn right I did, Wildcat. I’m sick of you ignoring me, running, and fucking hiding. Tonight we’re talking, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.” He turns the radio up, and Papa Roach’s Last Resort blasts through the silence.
Real subtle, Beck.
With no choice but to go along for the ride, I start preparing myself for the showdown that’s to come.
CHAPTER 5
Dee
When he pulls his truck into the driveway, I push the door open and stomp up the stone pathway to the brightly lit porch. I watch him as he makes his way to the door, shaking his head with that damn smirk in place, and I want to scream. My anger has hit the point of no return, and all I want to do is smack that look off his face. Then, kiss away the pain. God, I’m so sick with my own constant, mental tug-a-war with this man.
“Is this a game to you, Beck?”
He looks shocked for a second before his eyes turn hard. Turning to unlock the door, he holds it open for me to step through before he follows me in. After dropping his keys on the table he disarms the security system before looking at me. His eyes are still hard, and his body strung tight.
“Which part do you think is a game? You refusing to be more than a bed warmer? Not answering the phone when I call because I’m worried about you? No, wait, I’ve got it. It must be the time that I told you I wanted more than to be just an itch to scratch and a dick to ride. Please tell me, Dee, because for the life of me, I can’t figure out just what game I could be playing with you!”
Oh. My. God. Never. Not once, in the months that I’ve known this man has he ever yelled at me. Standing here, right now, looking at his wild eyes and flaring nostrils, I want to slap myself for taking such a strong man and turning him into this. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves a woman that can love him freely. A woman who won’t be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the perfect man to turn into the perfect nightmare.
He deserves the best. And as much as I wish I were that person, I know that it isn’t me.