26. Weston

This rich prick bastard is trying to not only take my woman, but he’s using me as an excuse to hurt her. To put his fucking hands on her.

Un. Fucking. Acceptable.

I should take him apart one piece at a time. I sure as shit shouldn’t be sitting at a table in a bar that he chose for our little rendezvous, waiting for his ass to arrive.

After Renee left the arena, I stayed behind. I took a hike up to the bleacher seats near the roof and slid onto one of the benches. I could see all of the ice from there. They’re the worst seats in the house, but I have a thousand memories of me, my old man, and Hunter sitting in the nosebleeds watching games. Those were some of the best times of my life.

In the arena, I’m home. I know what I’m supposed to do and how to do it.

In the arena, I can see everything clearly.

It’s outside of there that shit gets messy.

But from my seat at the bar, today’s meeting looks clear as day. I have an untouched glass of whiskey in front of me and one thought on my mind: Deacon Carrington will keep his hands off my woman… or I’ll fucking kill him. Simple as that.

When I hear the door chime, I turn to see the arrogant bastard walk in. He’s taller than I remember. Face is just as punchable as I recall, though.

His sneer takes on a stern stillness when he locks eyes onto mine and makes his way through the maze of tables in the bar. He takes the seat across from me and stares at me like he thinks he’s doing a good job playing hard ball.

That suits me just fine. I can take the lead.

“You put your hands on Renee. That stops now.”

His sneer deepens. “And what do you plan to do about it, you stupid jock? She’s my wife and I’ll do as I damn well please with her.”

“She’s not your wife and she’s not going to be your wife.”

“It”s cute that you think you have any say in what she or I do.”

“I do when it comes to her.”

His nostrils flare when he leans in. I can smell his cologne and it makes me sick to my stomach. “Let me make this clear: Renee is mine. She”s going to be my wife soon. Not in six months or a year. Soon. And as my wife, she”ll be mine to do with as I please. So if I want to put my hands on her, I will. If I want to lock her in the goddamn basement, I will. If I want to fuck her ‘til the cows come home—guess what, buddy? There’s nothing you can fucking do.”

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. Breathe, you son of a bitch, I tell myself. Homicide will end your career and it’ll ruin Renee’s life. You can’t kill him. Well, not yet, at least.

I let out a careful breath. “She”s not yours until she takes your last name—and let”s be honest, she won”t be yours then, either. You could be balls deep inside her with your last name on her license and your ring on a finger, and she’d still be mine. But there’s no fucking way that’s ever gonna happen. There”s not a snowball”s chance in hell that I”m letting her marry you.”

He snorts arrogantly. “You don’t have any say-so.”

“I can tell you that if I see one more bruise on her, I’ll find you and I will teach you the meaning of bruises.”

“Big tough guy with your threats,” Deacon says with a chuckle. “You don’t scare me.”

I shake my head. “No threats here. Only promises. Put your fucking hands on her again and find out just how serious I am.”