Page 89 of Law Maker
Kaia rolled her eyes. “Tell that to my father. It’s the only thing he’s asked me about all week.”
“I’m proud of you, regardless,” I said. “Now do what you promised.”
I kissed her first—long, slow—trying not to think that I wouldn’t get to do it again until tonight. We made it work, but I wanted more: real dates, movie nights, cooking for her at my place, her sleeping without fear of being caught. Day trips somewhere beautiful, gifts she didn’t have to hide. I’d give a lot to have what other couples took for granted.
I kissed her harder. Kaia pressed into me, and though I hated to stop, I did. “You should go, peque. Come on—I’ll walk you out.”
“Yeah.” She shifted. “You’re right. We can’t get carried away here.”
I hugged her shoulders and led her to the door. Outside, she brushed her lips across my cheek and waved. “See you tonight, Ash.”
“Take care, mi niña.”
Leaning against the motorhome, I watched her hurry toward the offices. She was risking everything to see me; I was too selfish not to lether. After she disappeared, I went inside, finished dressing, and answered Ale’s texts—we were meeting later.
Five minutes later, as I locked the motorhome, footsteps thudded behind me.
“Champ.”
Not him.
I turned. Ethan stood there, toying with his keys. My gut tightened the way it always did when we crossed paths. “Ethan,” I said. “Heading out?”
“Yeah.” He shoved the keys into his khaki pocket. “Although my home life sure isn’t as interesting as yours.”
“What do you mean?” I stepped closer, slow.
“Don’t act clueless, champ.” He smirked. “I saw her leave—flustered. I don’t blame you. She looks innocent, but come on. Those perfect tits aren’t for nothing.”
Blood roared in my ears. My hands shook with rage. This was bait—exactly the reaction he wanted: a confession, a ruin.
I should’ve walked away. Instead Ethan leaned in. “Too tempting. Sleeping under the same roof, knowing she’s dying for someone to fuck that tight little pussy.”
I snapped. Vision tunneled. I grabbed his collar and slammed a fist into his jaw. He cursed and staggered. “Not my fault your sister’s a slut.”
That was it. I tackled him, raining blows onto his face. Blood spurted from his nose. He flailed, throwing wild punches, but I kept him down—knee into ribs, hand at his throat. Every hit blurred together: my anger, his insults, the smell of sweat and oil.
“Asher!” Ale’s voice cut across the lot, but it didn’t stop me. Ethan was going to pay for what he’d said.
“Asher, goddamn it!” Ale seized my shoulders and hauled me back.
“Let me go!” I thrashed, heart pounding, red fog crawling at the edges of my sight. How dare he talk about her like that?
Ale grabbed his phone. “He isn’t moving. For fuck’s sake—we need an ambulance.”
He hauled Ethan up and checked him while I stood heaving, palm clamped over my mouth, lungs burningfor air.
Ethan lay sprawled in a puddle of blood. A weak moan escaped him, and Ale exhaled hard, rubbing his forehead. “Thank fuck he’s alive. Joder, chico. ¡Joder!”
He pressed his phone to his ear. I swayed, legs too heavy to move. I was going to be sick.
Warm hands gripped my biceps. I swallowed, fighting for breath.
Dawson guided me toward the motorhome. “Come on, Ash. Sit.”
An ambulance wailed in the distance. Another suit-clad figure sprinted across the lot.
Russell.
