49. Mira

49

MIRA

The music in the main dining room has gotten louder. Even with the door shut, it pulses through the walls.

No one would even hear me scream.

That doesn't stop me from trying.

"Let go of me!" I try to twist away from Carson, but his grip is crushing. My bones grind together, and a whimper forces its way out of my mouth.

"You've been in the spotlight all night," he slurs. "Don't get shy now."

He twists my arm between us, never loosening his hold, and pins me against the wall. His breath is toxic. Every exhale stings my nose and makes my eyes water.

"You're drunk, Carson. Don't do this."

I'm not sure what his plan is, but it can't be good. Not if he's bringing me out here. Not when his eyes are bloodshot and there's a level of crazy in them I've never seen before.

He towers over me, all six-plus feet of him looming overhead and blocking out the light. "I didn't do anything. You . You are the one who fucked all of this up."

"Me? What did I do?" My heart is racing, but I try to stay calm. I focus on breathing in and out the way Dr. Navarro taught me. I place myself here and now instead of in my childhood home, curled against the floorboards.

I'm not that little girl anymore.

"You turned that piece of shit addict into someone people want to root for," he sneers.

I stretch onto my toes, getting as close to eye level with him as I can. "Zane has always been someone to root for. Long before I showed up."

He barks out a cruel laugh. "How much is he paying you to say that? Is this marriage between you two even real?" He's still pinning my wrist against my chest, but with his other hand, he curls a finger over my bare shoulder. "What are your rates? I might want to pay to play."

I wrench against his hold again, but he shoves me even tighter against the wall. My chest is tight, and I can barely breathe, but I drum up enough air to spit, "I'm not a prostitute; I'm his wife."

A lazy smile curls the edges of his mouth. "Maybe that is true, but I don't give a fuck. Because he will never be my captain."

Carson lunges for me like he's going to bite me, and he might as well. His lips smash against mine so hard I taste blood.

I kick and scream—and then Carson is gone.

It takes me a second to understand why. To realize that there is another hulking shape in the hallway with us, and he's yanking Carson back by the scruff of his neck.

"Get off me," Carson grumbles, stumbling.

But before he can catch his balance, Zane rears back and punches him in the jaw.

I swear it happens in slow motion. Carson's head snaps to the side, spit flies, and his eyes roll back in his head. He's unconscious before he hits the ground.

Then Zane is in front of me.

"Tell me where he hurt you. What did he do?" He ghosts his hands over me like he'll be able to feel where I'm hurting. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I'm okay." Adrenaline is thrumming through me so hard I'm starting to shake, but… "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

Zane's thumb slips across my lower lip. "You're bleeding."

"He tried to kiss me, but he didn't?—"

Zane spins around and kicks Carson. Hard.

I grab his shoulders to stop him from doing more. "He didn't hurt me. I'm?—"

"He touched you. That's bad enough."

There's a welt forming around my wrist from where he held me. I loop my hands around Zane's neck and pull him close, pressing my forehead to his. "I'm okay. I swear."

The door to the dining room opens and there are too many voices to keep track of. A few of Carson's friends drag him away. I think someone might be calling 911.

"What happened here?" Coach demands.

Zane opens his mouth, but I step in front of him. "Carson attacked me. He grabbed me and tried to—I'm lucky Zane got here when he did."

"That fucking coward," Jace spits, looking angrier than I've ever seen him. "He cornered you? He followed you out here?"

I hold up my wrist. "He dragged me, actually."

Something shifts in that moment—something Carson can't come back from.

Coach Popov's jaw shifts. He claps a hand on Zane's shoulder, his eyes narrowed down the hall at Carson's limp form. "You get out of here, Whitaker. Go celebrate."

Zane shakes his head. "But?—"

"I'll take care of it." Coach tips his head towards the door. "Get your wife out of here and enjoy the rest of your night."

Jace and Rachelle give me a hug and then Zane takes my hand and leads me through the restaurant.

We walk silently, the happy night shattered by one stupid, drunken moment.

We make it all the way through the front doors and onto the sidewalk when I grab Zane's hand and pull him to a stop. "No."

He arches a brow. "No?"

"No," I repeat. "Carson does not get to ruin our night. Your night. You're captain of the Phoenix Angels!"

"I don't care about that, Mira. I care that someone tried to hurt you. I was in the other room celebrating while he?—"

"I'm fine." I lift my arms over my head and spin in a slow circle, letting him examine every inch of me. "Carson was so drunk that I?—"

"If you say you can take care of yourself…" A dangerous growl rumbles out of his chest as he reaches for me. His fist tightens in the skirt of my dress, dragging my hips against his. "Just don't say it."

"How about I say ‘thank you' instead? Is that allowed?" I flatten my hands on his chest, smoothing them down the clean lines of his suit. "You look incredible. Have I told you that?"

Zane looks annoyingly good in everything, but there's something about him in a suit.

He smiles, and all at once, the night feels sparkly again. Light and buoyant.

"Gratitude and flattery. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Mira Whitaker."

The sound of my new name on his lips still sends the butterflies in my stomach into a tizzy. "A woman never reveals her secrets."

"Lucky for you, a man does." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card.

It takes me a second to read the embossed logo on the side. And to follow the slight tilt of his head towards the glittering hotel across the street.

"But Daniel and Taylor?—"

"Packed overnight bags in their car," he interrupts, curling my hair behind my ear. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I can't take you on a honeymoon right now, but I can give you this. Tonight. If you want it."

I slide out of Zane's arms and move to the curb. There's a valet at the entrance and brass streetlights around the block. The building is like something plucked out of the 1920s—sleek and classy and perfect.

But I wouldn't care if it was the rundown motel he found me in months ago; I'd still want it.

I'll always want him.

I look over my shoulder and hold a hand back to my husband. "Lead the way, captain."