Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

I dialed 911 on my phone as I stepped into the room.

He jerked at my arrival, his head snapping in my direction.

Dark, flat eyes stared at me and I knew without a doubt it was Stu.

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

“I have an intruder in my establishme—oof!” His body hit mine before I even had time to react to him suddenly launching himself at me.

My breath slammed out of me as I crashed to the floor, pain juddering through my head as it smacked against the floorboards. At the heavy, warm weight settling over me, my eyes flew open in panic.

Stu’s cruel eyes glared down at me as he reached for the phone in my hand. I gripped it tighter, struggling to keep hold of it as his strong fingers clawed at mine. He grabbed my wrist and hammered it against the floor. Pain shot down my arm and I reflexively let go of the phone.

He threw it against the wall, grunting in satisfaction at the sound of it breaking.

Fury roared through me at the shock of him physically attacking me. With my good hand I reached for his mask, my nails scratching him as I tried to drag it off his face so I could finally have evidence to get a Devlin charged with a crime.

“I know it’s you!” I screeched as his fingers bit into my hands.

We struggled as adrenaline aided me in my pissed-off quest to unmask the bastard. I wasn’t thinking. I was just too angry.

He hissed as I clawed at his arm and he released me to pull his elbow back, his fist coming toward me as I stared up at him in horror.

But his fist never met my face.

Suddenly he was no longer straddling me because another body had launched itself at him, throwing him off me.

I scrambled to my feet. “Holy fuck,” I breathed, stunned.

The other body belonged to the man who was currently wrestling Stu. And that man was Vaughn. A very furious Vaughn.

Stu grunted as Vaughn punched him, but then Vaughn grunted when Stu buried his fist in Vaughn’s gut. It was a hard enough hit to wind him, catching him off guard, and off balance. He was quick to his feet though, lunging at Stu, grappling with him. I watched as they fought, Stu deftly avoiding becoming unmasked.

When he landed a punch on Vaughn’s face, I’d had enough.

I jumped on Stu’s back.

And found myself promptly thrown off and at Vaughn.

I felt his strong arms bind around my waist as he pulled me away from an inevitable collision with my desk, and cursed like a sailor at the sight of my attacker sprinting out of the office and out of our grasp.

“Are you okay?” Vaughn’s hands roamed my body for injury.

I jerked away, unnerved by how much I wanted his comfort right then. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re trembling.”

I narrowed my eyes on his jaw, looking for injury. There was a faint redness that I knew was going to look bad in the morning if we didn’t get some ice on it. “I didn’t get hit in the face.”

“Because I was there to stop him. What the hell were you—” His eyes darted behind me and he stiffened.

I glanced over my shoulder and my gut churned.

My guests were crowded outside my office, sleepy, disgruntled, and concerned.

“Everything alright?” one of my return visitors, Mr. Ingles, asked.

“A small mishap,” I said cheerily, walking toward them as if I wasn’t currently wearing a silk camisole and shorts that showed off way too much of my body. As if I wasn’t walking through a scattered mess of files and objects that had crashed to the floor during all the violent tussling. “But it’s quite alright.”