Page 24 of Wrecked By Rev

“There’s nothing underneath! I’m a nice guy who made the mistake of falling for a woman who doesn’t know what she wants!”

“She knows exactly what she wants.” I smile, and it’s not friendly. “It’s not you.”

He snaps.

He swings at me—wild, sloppy, the punch of a man who’s never been in a real fight. I catch his fist, twist his arm behind his back, and drive him face-first into the side of his truck. He hits hard, grunting in pain.

“That was stupid,” I say against his ear. “But I was hoping you’d do it.”

I spin him around and hit him. Once, twice—short, brutal jabs that split his lip and send blood spraying across his shirt. He crumples against the truck, hands raised to protect his face.

“Stop—please?—”

“Does it feel good? Being helpless? Having someone stronger than you do whatever they want?” I grab the front of his shirt, haul him upright. “That’s what you did to her. For four months. You made her feel small and scared and alone, and you enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t—I was just?—”

“You were just a predator who picked the wrong target.”

I let him go. He slides down the side of the truck, landing on his ass in the gravel, blood dripping from his split lip.

“Niall?”

We both turn. A woman is standing in the doorway of the building next door—middle-aged, holding a coffee cup, staring at the scene in front of her with wide eyes. The sign above her reads “Desert Bloom Florist.”

“Call the police, Sandra!” Niall scrambles to his feet, pointing at me. “This maniac attacked me! He?—”

“I saw what happened.” Her voice is flat. “You threw the first punch.”

“He threatened me! He?—”

“I also heard what you said.” She sets down her coffee cup, crosses her arms. “About that woman. The one from the café.”

Niall’s face goes pale.

“My sister goes to that café,” Sandra continues. “She mentioned you’d been hanging around. A lot. Said the owner seemed uncomfortable every time you showed up.” Her eyes narrow. “I told her she was imagining things. That you were a nice guy.”

“I am a nice guy! This is all a misunderstanding?—”

“Save it.”

A car pulls into the lot—a woman in workout clothes, probably picking up flowers. She takes one look at Niall’s bloody face, at me standing over him, at Sandra’s expression, and stops dead.

“What’s going on here?”

“Niall’s been stalking a woman,” Sandra says. “Her boyfriend came to deliver a message.”

“I haven’t been stalking anyone!” Niall’s voice cracks. “She led me on! She wanted the attention!”

“She told you no.” I look down at him—this pathetic, bleeding man who terrorized Angel for months. “Over and over again, she told you no. And you didn’t listen. That’s not her leading you on. That’s you refusing to hear the word.”

Niall opens his mouth. Closes it. The mask is gone now—cracked wide open, the ugly truth exposed for everyone to see. Sandra is looking at him like she’s never seen him before. The client is already backing toward her car, phone in hand.

“Stay away from her,” I say. “If I hear you’ve gone near her again—if I hear you’ve even said her name—I’ll be back. And next time, I won’t stop at a split lip.”

I turn and walk back to my bike. Behind me, I hear Sandra’s voice, cold and final:

“We’re done, Niall. No more referrals, no more shared clients. I don’t want your name anywhere near my business.”