CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"You know who I'm talking about, right?"

As if either of us could ever forget her.

Luna's questioning voice should comfort me. She has no idea I've been screwing the cute flower girl for the past six months. Relentlessly.

But, no. I'm nowhere near being comforted.

"Thank you, Luna, for coming here." Mr. Responsible at my side manages to stay put despite his emotions varying between rage and urgency. Mine sure fucking do. "We'll take it from here."

Killian sidesteps Luna toward the open door. Me? My psycho, overprotective ass is already in the hallway.

Sure, a few words won't hurt our strong woman. She won't be physically hurt, either. Won't be raped in the bar of our hotel. Nothing like that.

Our bartender packs a Glock on him just in case. Everyone knows he does.

It doesn't comfort me. He could be hiding an RPG under the counter.

The fact is fucking Christopher is harassing Amara. And no one—not a single fucking one—messes with what's ours.

We have to protect her. We have to be smart about it. Through the cloud of rage, I realize it has to be done without anyone actually catching wind that she's ours.

One motherfucking step at a time.

Until then.

Save her. Take her away from here.

MurderChristopher.

"He's acting out because of Preston." Killian's two steps behind me, alone in the hallway.

"Fuck him." I glance over my shoulder, watching him catching up. "I don't care that he's a hitman. Don't give a shit that Preston was his accountant. Rules are rules. And now this? Amara?"

Killian's stern expression gives me my answer. I'm right to be losing my shit.

I charge forward, faster than before. My shoes can't eat up the distance to Amara fast enough. A fucking lifetime, that's what it feels like to get to her.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, making me hear, see, and smell everything. My hand clutches my trustworthy Cyclone, both of us eager to slice into the man who got close to Amara.

Up until today, Killian and I haven't administered punishments in public. Never disrupting the careful balance we maintain in our hotel.

That's about to change. Goddamn Christopher Boroughs. If he so much as breathed a wrong word to her, I'll demolish him.

No. One. Fucks. With. Amara.

I screech to a halt at the entrance to the hotel's bar. Killian stops right at my side.

Searching for her for one second. Mesmerized by her the next.

Our blond beauty in a yellow dress is a beacon of light in our dimly lit hotel. As always. She occupies one of the black leather high stools at the black and gold marble bar, snarling.

Fucking snarling.

With her arms hugging the black vase with purple lilies I recognize from our penthouse, she snarls at Christopher. One of the most feared hitmen on the East Coast. Her lips are curled in disgust a moment longer, then she turns to Jamey, our bartender.

She's ignoring Christopher while he's yapping in her ear and while his hand rises to her hair.

Pride swells in my heart. Rage is quick to follow.

"Rule number two," I hiss, hearing Kill's shoes on the marble floor less than a foot beside me. "We're entitled to hurt him."

We're on the move.

"What do you say, then? Come over to my loft? This bouquet is wasted in this place." His repulsive fingers grab one of our lilies, tucking it behind her ear. I hear Killian growl. Or maybe it's me. "It'll look so much better in my bedroom. So will you."

"Never." Amara spins to glare at him, swatting his hand off as if he's a pesky bug. Just as fast, her eyes return to Jamey.

She won't have to fend for herself much longer.

Jamey slides his hand under his suit jacket to his holster.

Ten steps.

Ten, long motherfucking steps.

"On second thought, what are you even doing here in the first place? These flowers don't match this hotel. And you're here on a weekend." He studies her annoyed profile. Cyclone burns hot in my palm. "You're here to fuck one of the owners, aren't you? Which is it? The dad or the son?"

"Miss Carmichael." Killian and I come to a halt behind Amara and Christopher's stools. His eyes are hot on Amara. "You're here for us, I believe. And these are the flowers we asked you to bring over."

"Christopher," I address him, placing my hand possessively on her shoulder. Showing everyone she's important to us. As our supplier, of course. "I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing."

"Nice of you to join us." His pale blue eyes are mad and violent. His smile sickens me. "Carter. Killian."

"I'm always here." I flash him my psycho smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Always. And I hate—fucking loathe—it when our members break our rules."

"Well, what can I say? She's been asking for it." He shrugs. "Playing hard to get. A needy bitch like the rest of them."

God himself couldn't stop me now. I leave Amara's side. One of my hands curls viciously around Christopher's throat. He barely has a chance to lift his hands to fend me off when my other hand makes a fist around his cornflower blue tie. And yanks on it.

"Mr. Steele, Mr. Murdock." Amara's voice is sheer happiness. Glee, even, despite the way Christopher chokes in my hold. "I brought over the lilies you asked for."

My gaze flicks behind me. Zoning in on her smiling face. Genuine joy pours from her.

The sight gives me a glimmer of hope. She might accept us. The nature of our business. The things we do.

Christopher fights me, but I'm hardly done watching Amara. Another emotion appears in her eyes. I need another second to study her, so Christopher will have to be subdued in the meantime. I kick away the stool he's sitting on, twist his tie to his back, and hold the shorter man like a dog on a leash.

"Carter," he chokes out.

Our Amara is sad. That's what I couldn't figure out.

The guy I'm choking isn't responsible for it. He annoyed her. Made me want to burn his face with acid. But he didn't put the hopeless look in her eyes.

Meaning we have more people to punish.

Right after this jerk has burn marks the shape of his tie around his neck.

The gaze I give her should tell her I have her. Killian's hand on her bicep reassures me nothing will happen to her while I take care of this filth.

"We're taking this to our office." Killian's words drip with venom. Of unspoken threats.

He's hot and seething like I am. The composed version of my uncontained rage. Killian's doing one of the things he does best.

Damage control.

Dozens of eyes watch our every move in the bar area. Members in the leather couches spread around. They've quieted, no longer murmuring. No longer planning and scheming.

The rational thing to do would be to avoid a scene, like Killian suggested.

I don't remember the last time I've ever been anything remotely close to rational.

Christopher is about to be reminded of our rules. About to realize what we do to people who get too close to our people.

Not just him, though, I decide.

Allof them are.

"To the office?" Christopher is a head shorter than I am. I see his smirk from my place above him. Repulsive. "Where the three of us can tag team your little whore?"

In one swift movement, I release his tie, grip his platinum blond hair by the roots, and lift his head.

"Tag team, huh?"

Crack.

His head creates the most beautiful symphony when his forehead bashes into the marble bar.

"Little whore?"

Crack. Crack. Crack.

A few shocked gasps echo in the otherwise dead silence of the bar. These assholes have seen and done worse. But this is the first time I've beat someone up with an audience.

Enjoy the show.

"Sit your fucking ass down," Killian thunders at someone behind me. "You do not want me to come over there."

"You even think about tag teaming her…" I raise Christopher's head by the roots of his hair, smashing his forehead back down. Crack. "I'll fuck you up, Christopher. Fuck you up so bad that bashing your head in is going to look like child's play in comparison. In fact, I doubt anyone will recognize you once I'm done."

His jaw tics. His eyes squint through the blood trickling down from his forehead.

I swear I hear Amara giggle. A small sound. An adorable sound. Her happiness makes everything worthwhile. Her safety even more so.

Our members will have to be crazy to even look at her after today.

Now, my smile isn't a tool to freak Christopher the fuck out.

It's genuine.

Another glimpse at Amara fills me with joy. There's no mistaking the twinkle in her eyes. The earlier sadness I saw on her face has diminished. Her giddy energy at the violence brims through her pores.

Kinky little thing.

I know what Killian will have to say about that. That she can handle everything.

I'd beg to differ. There's a huge difference between hurting someone and killing them in—sometimes—very creative ways.

Anyway.

Back to the asshole I go. I growl in his ear, "I dare you to call her a little whore one more time." The way I'm holding him isn't cutting it for me. I dip a finger into his bleeding forehead. Painting the rest of the skin up there in red.

Then I shove my finger into his ear.

My finger is far too thick to rupture his eardrum. But we both know I'm psycho enough to try.

Christopher grunts. Does his best to wrangle himself out of my grip.

"Next time you call her by any fucking name, I'll sew your mouth shut. Personally." My top lip curls in a snarl. I mash his cheek to the cool marble, the wrath on my face filling his view. "Won't lose sleep over it, either."

From the corner of my eye, I notice Amara doesn't flinch. I think the pieces start clicking into place for her. Or she might be okay because she thinks I'm issuing empty threats.

That I'd never be this cruel.

I was. I am. I motherfucking will.

One of these days—soon—I'll open up. Tell her what monstrosities Killian and I are capable of. Soon.

"Aww, so I was right. She is your girlfriend."

Brave motherfucker. On any other day, I'd admire this quality. Today, Christopher's doing the unforgivable. Going after Amara. Taunting me with an underlying threat.

"You broke the rules," I say loud enough for the people in the lobby to hear.

I can't bring myself to lie. Can't utter the words she's not mine.

She fucking is.

"No hurting anyone here."

"As mentioned, I didn't break—"

Fucking hitmen and their overconfidence. So full of themselves after ending the lives of dozens of people. Invincible, even.

He might be. Anywhere else but here.

"Harassment means hurting someone. Besides, this isn't about her. This is about you, Chrissy Pooh." The corners of my lips tick higher. My voice is that of a mother babying her child. "What happened? You butthurt that we kicked out your precious accountant? That's why you're throwing a tantrum? Little baby can't handle the real world?"

I'm calculated when I deliver my speech. Mad, but calculated. Keeping my secrets from Amara close to my chest. She knows this is an exclusive, members-only hotel. For rich people. The NDA she signed when we first hired her stated as much. I bet she recognizes some of their ugly mugs from the news.

The rest she'll hear about soon.

"Tantrum, my ass." His smugness vanishes off his pretty boy face. At thirty-five, he looks younger than I am. "I'm here to get justice. You two were wrong to revoke his membership. Admit it."

"You're telling us how to run our hotel, Boroughs?" Killian materializes at Christopher's other side, yanking on his tie from beneath him. Mashing his face harder into the bar.

Guess he's had enough of Christopher's bullshit. That, coupled with Amara being safe and sound, means it's time for him to join the fun.

"No." Christopher swallows, his fingers pushing against the bar. We don't let up an inch. "I'm telling you Preston made one mistake. He deserves a second—"

"He deserves jack shit." Killian's gruff voice sends ice racing down my spine. Christopher must be freaking terrified.

It shouldn't make me hard.

It fucking does.

"Same goes for the rest of you." Killian raises his voice, looking around the bar-restaurant area.

Every eye in the room lands on him. Wide and terrified. Other than Amara's. The look on her matches my excitement. That does it. Her pussy is the hole I want to sink into.

While I punish her for leaving the penthouse without calling us first.

For risking her life.

"One strike and you're out," Killian continues.

It's clear to everyone what out could mean.

Everyone but Amara.

Preston got off with a slap on the wrist. There were others, though. Others who are swimming at the bottom of the Hudson River.

The crowd in the bar area nods.

Christopher mumbles begrudgingly, "Yes, Killian."

"And now the final act." I move away so Amara, the woman I love with every fiber of my being, can see Christopher's punishment.

Her chocolate brown eyes stare at us. Her slender arms wrap around the vase she brought along. I'm willing to bet she's pretending it's either me or Killian.

Christopher's Adam's apple bobs when I put all my weight on his face. "Tell her how sorry you are."

"I'm sorry," he blurts out his fake apology.

"Her name is Amara," Killian deadpans. "Say, I'm sorry, Amara. Make it believable, or I'll make it hurt. Those are your only two options."

Amara's gaze flickers to Killian. She has hearts in her eyes. Gratitude.

Her eyes take away some of our doubts. Would you look at her. Excited about the prospect of violence.

Killing a person isn't beating them up, but she'll get there. She'll get used to us. Yes, she will.

"I'm sorry, Amara." His apology sounds genuine. Sort of.

Good fucking dog.

Next in line, Amara and Killian. My dick is begging to be touched. My palm tingles with the desire to spank and punish our girl. My teeth ache to bite into her exposed skin and my tongue to swipe Killian's length.

The blood and brutality have reduced me to the sum of my needs.

"Don't come back here." I throw him to the floor. Where the trash belongs.

He collapses on his hands and knees. Bleeding from his forehead.

No one dares to rise from their chair or offer him help.

The only person I hear talking is Luna who is calling housekeeping over the radio.

"You wanted to see us?" Killian outstretches his hand to Amara, helping her off the stool as if Christopher isn't coughing like a mad man on the floor.

"You asked for this vase, and I brought it." She stands tall, though her voice is timid. I don't like it. And this sadness again. "Is this a bad time? I can come back later."

This isn't like my pet. She's rattled, and I need to find out why. By the determined look in Killian's eyes, he shares the sentiment.

"Couldn't be a better time, Miss Carmichael." I flank Amara at the other side, placing a hand on the small of her back. "We were waiting for you. To discuss you and your shop."

She grimaces.

Oh, fuck no.

Something's definitely up.

Be it a client or her parents, someone is going to pay for doing this to her.

It's a promise.