Page 11 of Adam
“I said shut up.”
“And I said let her the fuck go,” Adam says calmly, his eyes never leaving Wes’s.
Wes shoves me behind him, steps closer to Adam, and presses his gun below his jaw. “Or what?”
“Stop it already!” I yell desperately.
Adam still seems calm. Entertained, even.
Two more of my father’s men enter the bar, guns pointed at him.
“That’s actually flattering.” Bravely, he takes a step closer to Wes and peers deeper into his eyes. “Can’t deal with a simple pretty boy on your own?”
What the hell is he doing?
I can’t see Wes’s face, but he puts the guns right back in his waistband.
Suddenly, he grabs Adam’s shirt and pushes him through the throng, crashing the stools in their way.
Oh, God, no …
The two other bodyguards leap into the brawl. It’s not fair! Adam is alone and they’re three.
But Adam, rough and relentless, takes the two of them on with ease. He punches, kicks, even shatters stools over theirbacks, earning cheers from the crowd that quickly turns the fight into a betting frenzy.
He’s an animal.
My father’s men are vicious, the toughest I know, and he’s handling them. Alone.
Then, a gunshot rings out, making everyone in the bar duck down.
Mio padre …My father.
He saunters in slowly, his cigar dangling casually from his lips, and six more of his crew follow close behind, their guns raised and loaded.
Colton is one of them.
His gaze is softer. I know he’s not a fan of this shitty job, but he has a family to support, so I get it—I guess.
“What? A boyband runaway?” Adam jokes.
Dad signals to two of his men behind Adam—where the hell did they come from?—and they grab his arms, wrenching them behind his back before kicking him in the knees. With a groan, he drops to the floor.
A cold prickle crawls up the back of my neck. My pulse hammers so loud it drowns everything else out. Father is ruthless with everyone around him, and Adam just handed him the perfect excuse to call him a threat. Talking to his runaway daughter? The worst sin that anyone could commit. At least by my father’s twisted standards.
“What do we have here?” Dad says, inhaling his cigar.
“Dad?!”
“Hush,” he hisses, striking me with the back of his hand. My head snaps to the side. “You disobeyed me. Again.”
I taste blood. “Maybe if you’d listened to me for once in your damn life, I wouldn’t have to,” I shout, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes.
“Silence.” He tosses the cigar on the floor and steps on it. “I don’t have the time to deal with your childish behavior.”
I don’t speak again. No words could ever wash away all the shame in my heart about this.
Father prowls closer to Adam, stomping his fancy cane next to his feet with menace.
