Blyssful Lies (The Blyss Trilogy 2)

He’s worked so hard to prove himself to me time and again, and this final act of chivalry just confirms how much he does care about me. He has gone to extreme lengths, dedicating all of his time and energy into nurturing not only me, but our relationship, all the while looking out for our safety. I’m seeing with crystal clear vision now what this man is coming to mean to me. If his life were ever threatened, I’d be damned if I’d let anything happen to him. I believe I would even kill to protect him.

~Nick~

There is no way to describe this fierce outrage boiling inside my body. Hot-blooded savagery courses through my veins and my ability to reason is hanging on by a mere thread. I just found out my men hit another dead end today in their quest to find Julianna. It’s been almost two fucking weeks since Travis absconded with my woman and vanished into thin air without a trace. My exasperation grows tenfold for each day that goes by in which I don’t have her, and the fact that he took a handful of Blyss with him when he took her, tells me he’s been fucking her. The mere thought has me losing my last ounce of composure. I’m no longer seeing red and I’m past the tunnel vision phase of anger. Instead, I’m a ballistic missile that is seeking to destroy and detonate on impact any target that is unfortunate to be in my path.

My nostrils flare in anger as I use the strength of my forearm to reach across my desk and swipe away every single piece of paper off the desk’s surface with ferocity. Stacks of paper fly off in one fell swoop. Folders and papers haphazardly travel through the air and then float down over the room like confetti at a Mardi Gras parade.

“Where the fuck are they?” I shout at the top of my lungs. My turbulent breathing has my chest rising and falling as I scan the room looking for something still intact, because the next item still standing in my line of vision is going to be the next casualty of my wrath. I wrap my fingers around the neck of a heavy, decorative lamp that sits on the corner of my desk, and I yank it upward with a quick jerk. The power cord pops out of the electrical socket with a loud snap as I wind up my arm. The metal lamp sails across the room and slams into the wall with a loud crash, taking down with it a large picture frame. Glass shatters and rains down while pieces of drywall disperse everywhere, but the release of my physical anger does zilch to curb my rage.

I stalk toward Justin with my hands balled into tight fists, ready to drop the son-of-a-bitch with one punch. I mostly blame him for this fiasco anyway, so I feel justified in using him as my punching bag. Justin holds his hands out in front of him, both of his palms facing out toward me as if the gesture can stop me from killing him. He quickly shakes his head back and forth, trying desperately to ward me off.

“Nick, just hold up,” he pleads as he takes a step backward. “We’re still working on it…we haven’t exhausted all the possibilities. We still have a few more irons in the fire,” he quickly blurts out, trying to placate me with more false assurances that will only lead to more dead ends, and I’ve run out of patience.

“You just said they are unfindable,” I snarl. “Which one is it?”

Justin is a big man and he can be hair-raising fearsome when he needs to be, but he’s no Travis. Travis would never show an inkling of fear, nor would he contemplate for a mere second as to whether or not he should cower from my rampage. Travis doesn’t have a back-down button, he only moves forward with stealthy measures. Even though I’m in charge, Travis was the only one here who was considered to be my equal in power, and intelligence. Thinking of the fucker, who stole my woman, gets me worked up all over again. Justin notices my change in body movements, and he ducks just in time as I take a swing at him, and miss.

“Nick, dammit! Stop!” Justin blurts out, using his hands and arms to block my punches. “Me being your punching bag doesn’t help anyone.” He trips over the back of a toppled chair, barely having time to regain his footing before I slug him square in the gut with an upper punch. “Oomph…” is the only sound he can muster as the breath of air I stole from his lungs has knocked the wind out of him. He stumbles backward, his body colliding against the wall.