Priceless (Forbidden Men 8)

So I forced myself to rescan her like the concerned friend I was. Basically, she looked...okay. No bruises, no blood, no torn or even rumpled clothing. Hell, she wasn’t even crying, though she looked anything but happy.

Dragging her purse into her lap, she wheeled my way. “I’m ready to go.”

“Wha-what?” Dick-Breath moved between us to intercept her. “What’re you talking about?”

I shoved him out of the way. “You heard her. She’s ready to go.”

“But...” Frowning in utter confusion, he stepped forward again, except I think he knew better than to get between me and Sarah one more time because he faltered when he saw my expression. Irritation flashed across his face. “What the hell is going on? Who are you? Her brother?”

“I’m her ride home, apparently.”

Sarah didn’t bother to tell Dick goodbye. She rolled past me without even glancing his way. And that told me all I needed to know. Dick had to die.

“Hey, you can’t just barge in here and take her like this.”

“I just did, buddy.” I glared his way, stopping him in his tracks when he tried to follow Sarah into the hall. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to make her text me and ask me to come pick her up, but you might consider packing your shit and moving, because if I decide I don’t like what she has to tell me once I pry the truth from her, I will come back for you.”

Fear and maybe even a little guilt flittered across his face. But he only shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t do anything.” I narrowed my eyes and stepped closer, making him squawk, “We didn’t.”

“We’ll see,” I murmured, keeping sharp eye contact with him as I backed out of his apartment and shut the door between us.

Sarah was already halfway down the hall and waiting at the elevator entrance. By the time I caught up to her, the doors had opened and she was wheeling inside. I silently slipped in with her.

Neither of us spoke until the doors closed and we began to descend, and then, unable to hold it any longer, I stared straight ahead at her reflection in the mirrored doors and quietly, calmly, though barely keeping myself in check, asked, “Did he touch you?”

“No,” she gave the stony answer as she turned her head away from me.

I snorted out my disbelief. “So this is all because he didn’t touch you? Yeah right. I’m not buying it.”

“He didn’t touch me,” she repeated from between clenched teeth just as the first tear tracked down her cheek.

“Motherfucker,” I growled and slammed my fist into the elevator wall. “I’m going to kill him.”

Sarah finally looked up at me. “No. Just leave it alone.”

“The hell with that. You’re crying.”

“Brandt.”

“You contacted me, Sarah, asking me for help. Well, this is how I deal with it. That fucker hurt you, so he dies.”

More tears began to fall. Her hand shook madly as she tried to wipe her cheeks, which told me just how upset she was; her CP was acting up because her emotions were high.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe I just wasn’t feeling it and was ready to go home.”

I shook my head. “Bullshit. You’re too polite to flake out on a guy halfway through a date. If you just weren’t feeling it, you still would’ve stuck it out until the end of the night. I know you, Sarah. So I know the reason you didn’t tell that bastard goodbye or even look his way when you left was because he fucking did something wrong.”

“I’m overreacting, okay,” she cried. “So please just drop it.”

I snorted. “Well, I kind of think you’re trying to play it down.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it.” As soon as the elevator stopped and doors opened, she shot out into the first-floor foyer.

Cursing, I stalked after her, torn between heading back up to the fifth floor to kick some ass and seeing her safely to my truck. Her tears made me stay with her. She moved so fast that she was already twenty feet ahead of me by the time I made it outside.

“Sarah,” I called, hurrying to catch up.

“Dammit, Brandt.” She held up her hand, warding me away. “I said I don’t—”