BOUND BY HATRED | TOM KAULITZ

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | TYRA KÄUTNER |

TYRA KÄUTNER

As soon as we're in the limo, Tom barks, "Drive," and raises the partition so we're alone in the back, cut off from the chauffeur.

His hands are covered in blood, the same with his black dress shirt. He's even got blood on his face, and his cornrows are disarrayed, and his black bandana is practically falling over his eyes.

His eyes look dark and dangerous, the pupils very black against the brown. A black ring encircles the brown iris, which makes him look like a bird of prey when he stares at me, like he's doing right now.

I can see the muscles of his jaw twitching and the tendons standing out on his neck.

"Are you insane!" I shout, as the limo pulls away from the curb.

I shake off Tom's jacket, annoyed that I let him put it around my shoulders like I was some kind of victim.

"That greasy fuck put his hands on you," Tom says.

There's an edge to his voice. I've heard him angry before. But not on this level. His blood-spattered hands are shaking. I saw him try to pick up Oliver and hurl him over the railing.

He was going to do it.

He was going to kill him.

I might have underestimated Tom Kaulitz.

"I could have handled it myself," I snap. "He was just drunk. I could have gotten away from him without making a scene."

"He was trying to seduce you, right in front of me," Tom snarls.

"You were spying on me!"

"You're damn right I was. You're my wife. You have no secrets from me!"

I scoff.

"That only goes one way though, doesn't it? You're off all day long having secret meetings and appointments. Holed up in Daddy's office making plans."

"I'm working," Tom says through stiff lips.

I can tell he's still amped up to the maximum, thousands of volts of pure, vengeful energy running through his body. He was interrupted, taking out his aggression on Oliver. Now it has nowhere to go, and he looks like he'll explode at the slightest touch.

I'm pretty fucking pissed myself. Where does he get off listening in on my private conversation?

Acting like I'm his property, like he has any right to be jealous?

Oliver loved me at least, in his own stupid, immature way. Tom doesn't love me. Why should he care if some guy tries to put his hand up my skirt?

"Keep working," I hiss at him. "And stay the fuck out of my personal life. You want a pretty little accessory on your arm? I did it. I came to your stupid party, wore this ugly dress. Told Mitts he should support you. I'm holding up my end of the bargain. Who I dated before is none of your fucking business."

"Did you love him?" Tom demands.

"None of your business!" I shout. "I just fucking said that!"