I think I might have a huge problem where David Mars is concerned.
Chapter Eleven
David
The second I see his hand on her, something in me detonates.
Not irritation.
And not annoyance.
This is rage.
Hot. Immediate. Blinding.
He’s gripping her elbow like she belongs to him.
Like she doesn’t have a choice.
And I don’t think.
I don’t calculate optics. I don’t weigh consequences. I don’t ask who the hell he is.
I just move.
“She doesn’t want you touching her,” I growl.
“So what?” This prick replies.
“So I suggest you stop while you still have use of that hand.”
The words leave me low and steady, but there’s nothing controlled about what’s under them.
For half a second, the guy doesn’t register I’m there.
Then he looks at Hilary and back to me.
And I see it—the confusion, the flicker of uncertainty when he realizes I’m not just some random passerby.
I step forward.
Slow.
Measured.
Not charging.
Not posturing.
But I make it clear—this space? It’s mine now.
My jaw tightens.
He still hasn’t let go.
And that’s a big no no.
“What’s your problem, man?” he snaps.