Page 89 of Sweet Surrender

“That’s my wife,” Jase growls. “Stay the fuck away from her. Do. Not. Ever. Touch. Her. Again.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Gizmo

I’ve felt rage before.

I’ve swung fists and broken bottles over heads and on bar tops.

I’ve let my anger get the best of me more times than I can count.

But this? Seeing that fucker’s hands on Hendrix? Sensing her fear as she struggled against his grip? This is completely different.

This is lethal.

I’ve never wanted to harm somebody more than I do right now. How the fuck did he get past Sammy?

Paul wheezes beneath my grip, his hands grabbing and fingers clawing at my forearm for an easier breath. “I’m going to sue you for everything you’re worth.”

I press harder, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Try me. I have a lawyer who eats pricks like you for lunch,” I say, knowing damn well Nathaniel is more Paul than he is me, but the thought’s fleeting as I remember where those hands of his just were.

“Fuck you,” he grunts out.

“Call her a whore again. See what happens,” I threaten.

“Jase.” Hendrix’s voice is quiet but firm. It barely cuts through the haze in my brain. She places her hand on my arm and pulls back. A subtle reminder where I am and what the fuck I’m doing. “You can’t.”

I hear her words, I know what she means—that I can’t afford more bad press, a lawsuit, a scandal. It’s so tempting to get lost in the noise and forget that there’s a highbrow judge already looking for a reason to believe I’m a reckless asshole.

But her hand tugging on my shoulder has me stepping back from the brink.

I slowly release Paul, and he sidesteps me, coughing as he glares at Hendrix, his voice hoarse when he speaks. “This isn’t over. Not by a long fucking shot.”

I step into the space between them. “Good,” I taunt while I force my hands to unclench and not give in to the urge to plow it into his face. “I’m always down for a good ass-kicking. Until then, Paul, it’s time for you to leave.”

Paul hesitates, his jaw clenched, motivation clearly undecided, before nodding and then going out the door.

Hendrix exhales shakily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to—”

“To protect you?” I turn to face her fully, temper still running hot. “That’s my job.”

“No. It’s not. That was my fault and—”

“And if you apologize again, I’m going to get even angrier than I already am.”

“Thank you then?” Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide with concern.

I force myself to take it down a notch. Hendrix has never seen me like this, and in some respects, I don’t want her to. “Hey,” I say, my voice softening. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“You didn’t have to step in.”

“Yeah, I fucking did.”

She shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. You have too much on the line. You need to think of yourself. Of why we’re doing this.”

“He was assaulting you, Hendrix. I should be calling the police on the prick. He had his hands on you,” I yell. “And where the fuck is Sammy?”

She throws her hands up in defeat, almost as if she knows I’m going to be upset with what she says next. “I told him to go home. Convinced him I was done so I could have a moment of peace to myself. It’s my fault Sammy’s not here, Jase, not his. Don’t be mad.”