Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
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A wave of relief washes over me when my eyes behold Red. I pant soundly and his eyes flare up with anger after a very brief moment of nothingness. And then his rage resurfaces when he sees the state I'm in: the ripped top of my jumpsuit, and maybe the panic on my tearstained face.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Patrick roars and frees me at the same time. "I thought you fired him!" His voice reverberates.
"What did you do to her?" Red lunges toward us menacingly.
"None of your fucking business!" Patrick strides toward him, and when they meet he throws a quick punch.
Fluidly, Red ducks down and escapes Patrick's attempt. Unspeakably angry, my bodyguard throws my husband toward the wall and lands a tight fist on his jaw.
I gasp loudly and Patrick grunts in pain. He tries to swivel and punch back, but Red slams him back, adding another fist on his face, and another, no mercy in his eyes.
"You bastard! How dare you!" Patrick jerks his body like a cornered beast, looking shocked and infuriated, and Red is gripping him by the shirt's collar with deadly menace.
He doesn't utter a word, but every muscle of his body tells how out of control he is. Fear overpowers me and I fail to even breathe out for him to stop.
"Let go of me or you'll be sorry," Patrick enunciates, his voice a clear reflection of the aftershock and unanswered questions he may be having right now.
Red doesn't budge, and like two vicious predators the two men glare at each other with clear vehemence.
"Red—" I start but a heavy thud stops me.
Patrick has landed on the carpeted floor, and Red flips the back of his denim jacket and draws a gun.
"Fuck, no, Red!" I breeze toward him, my eyes wide at the dangerous invention pointed sideways at Patrick. "Red. Please. Don't."
Panting, Red doesn't seem to even hear my voice.
Patrick mops his butt on the carpet while spitting blood. He moves back swiftly with terrified eyes. He's scared—I know him well enough to see that—but at the same time I know he feels belittled, humiliated, and for that he's never going to let this slide.
But I have to stop Red.
"What do you think you're doing, you imbecile?" Patrick grits his teeth. "You think you'll walk out of here alive if you kill me?"
Responsively, Red cocks his gun, his gaze colder toward him. He holds it steadfastly, and I think he's serious.
"What do you think?" he replies in a deep and ruthless voice.
This is out of proportion. Red never draws his gun this carelessly—not even when he fought five armed men on his own. In fact, I only saw his gun once, by pure coincidence while searching for fallen earring on the floor and he bent over to pick it up.
