His jaw tightens. I see the muscle feather under the blood.
“And I will stop at nothing to protect her. Nothing. There is no line I won’t cross. No friendship I won’t end. No man I won’t bury. Do you hear me?”
He stares at me. And then something shifts in his face. The fear gives way to something uglier. Something bitter.
“Protect her?” He spits blood onto the floor. “You don’t even know her. She’s a gold-digging whore from New York, Hunter. She came here with nothing, and she targeted you because you’re the richest man in the county. She’s using you. She’s a cheap, desperate, scheming little?—”
My fist connects with his mouth so hard his head snaps back, and he flies off the stool. He hits the floor and skids on the wet tile, coming to a stop against the base of the island.
I’m on him before he can curl up. I grab the front of his shirt and haul him up to my face. “Say that again.” My voice is barely human. “Say one more word about her. Please. Give me a reason.”
He doesn’t. Blood is pouring from his mouth. He’s lost a tooth. Maybe two. His lip is split in three places, and his eyes are glassy with pain.
I release him, and he slumps back to the floor. “Every time you open your mouth about her, you lose something.” I stand over him. “First, it was a tooth. Next time it’ll be something you can’t replace.”
I step back. Roll my neck and flex my hands. “Put your hands on the counter.”
His eyes go wide. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Hunter, please?—”
“You used your hands to hurt her. So your hands are going to remember what that costs.” I pick up the scotch bottle from where it landed on the floor. “Right hand on the counter. Now. Or Ace holds you down, and I do both.”
He’s crying. Tears cut tracks through the blood on his face. The slick-suited lawyer is gone. The man who put a hat on a woman’s head like she was property is gone. All that’s left is a pathetic, bleeding shell who just learned that money and charm don’t mean shit when you’re on the wrong side of a Sterling.
He places his right hand on the counter. Fingers spread.
The hand that grabbed Lola’s wrist. The one she’ll still feel when she wakes up tomorrow.
I bring the bottle down.
Something crunches, and Reese screams. That raw, animal sound that bounces off the kitchen walls and rattles the pans on their hooks.
His body tries to fold, but Ace catches his shoulders and holds him upright. His left hand scrabbles at the counter, nails scratching the marble.
I set the bottle down. Leaning in close to his ear. “That’s the hand you grabbed her with.” My voice is quiet. It’s almost gentle. “Every document you can’t sign. Every pen you can’t hold. Every time you try to button your own shirt and you can’t, you think of her. You think of what you did. And you thank God I left you the other one.”
I pull back and look at him.
He’s destroyed. Good. Snot and blood and tears. His right hand is a swollen mess on the counter. He won’t be using those fingers for a long time.
Good.
I sit back down. Taking a breath to calm myself. I want to fucking rip his head off. “Here’s how this goes.”
He’s cradling his ruined hand against his chest, rocking back and forth on the stool, barely conscious.
“You’re done as my lawyer. I’m bringing in someone else. Her lease is terminated. No fees. No penalties. You eat everycent. She’ll be collecting her things in the morning, and you will not be within a mile of that building when she does.”
He nods. Not looking at me, though.
“You go near Lola again—you speak to her, look at her, send her a message, pass her in the street, and so much as nod in her direction. I won’t come for a conversation. I’ll put you in the ground, and nobody in this town will find you.”
“Yes. Okay. Yes,” he agrees, his voice shaking.
Pussy.