Reba sat beside her and held her hand. “Honey, look at me,” she said in a firm voice. She waited for Chloe to meet her serious gaze and said, “The second you told Justin that man hurt you, nothing else registered. Do you understand that?”
“I don’t understand any of this,” she cried, collapsing into Reba’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JUSTIN WAS SEEING red as he stormed through the entrance of LOCAL, hands fisted, muscles corded tight.
Shelby looked up with troubled eyes. “Justin, what hap—”
“Where’s Alan’s office?” The ire in his voice was inescapable.
She pointed to a hallway and said, “End of the hall, last door on the left.”
He burned a path down the hall, rage growing with every determined step. He threw open Alan’s door, locking eyes with the fucker sitting behind his desk. Justin hoped to hell Chloe had given him that shiner. He kicked the door shut, and Alan’s face blanched. All-consuming fear shone in his eyes as he pushed to his feet and reached for the phone. Justin lunged for it, tearing the cord from the wall. He tossed the phone to the floor, closing the distance between them. Alan walked backward, saying something about police, but Justin couldn’t process the words over Chloe’s sobs echoing in his head. He cocked his arm and threw a right hook, connecting with Alan’s jaw with an audible crack. Alan’s head flew back. He stumbled, careening toward the floor. Blinded by rage and fueled by hate and love and everything in between, Justin grabbed the collar of Alan’s shirt and hauled him to his feet, landing another blow to his bloody jaw, sending him crashing back against the wall. Alan slid to the floor, eyes unfocused, jaw agape.
Justin grabbed him by the hair, lifting him to his feet again. “Those were for Chloe, you motherfucker. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. These are for every other woman you’ve ever touched.”
He threw a right uppercut to his ribs, followed by one to his left kidney. The air spilled from Alan’s lungs with an oomph, and he slumped against the wall.
“And this is from me, you pathetic piece of shit.” Justin pulled his arm back and let it fly, smashing Alan in the side of his head. Alan dropped to the floor in a heap, unconscious. Justin strode out of the office, dripping blood from the cuts on his knuckles. He headed out the front of the building with only one thing on his mind—reaching Chloe.
Preacher, Gunner, Zeke, and Zander were heading toward the entrance. They fell into step beside him as he crossed the parking lot.
“Is he still alive?” Gunner asked.
Preacher said, “Anything we need to clean up?”
“It’s all on me,” Justin growled. “Call Justice. I gotta get to Chloe.” Rubin “Justice” Galant was an attorney and a Dark Knight, and handled the club’s legal affairs.
“Blaine already called him.” Preacher motioned for the guys to get on their bikes. When they walked away, he put a hand on Justin’s shoulder and said, “Sure you’re okay to drive?”
Justin nodded and climbed into his truck. He started it up and called Blaine, listening as he sped out of the parking lot, followed by Preacher and Gunner riding side by side, and Zeke and Zander bringing up the rear.
“She’s shaken up, torn shirt, scratches on her face, but he didn’t…” Blaine’s voice trailed off. “Pushed her against the wall, pulled up her skirt. She fought back. She needs you, man. She needs you bad.”
Tears burned Justin’s eyes. He ended the call, grinding out curses through gritted teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel with one hand and slamming the dashboard with the other.
When he pulled down his street, he found Baz, Conroy, and two other Dark Knights sitting on their motorcycles, blocking the entrance to the driveway.
They moved aside, and Baz and Conroy came to the window of the truck. Conroy said, “You a’right?”
Justin nodded.
“I got a call. Cuffs is looking for you,” Conroy said. “Better get in there and see your girl.”
They took a step back, and Justin drove up to the house, followed by Preacher and the other guys. Justin headed up the front steps trying to quell the tsunami in his gut. He knew the second he saw a scratch on Chloe’s beautiful face, the rage consuming him would turn to scorching fury, and that was the last thing she needed. He stood on the porch, hands fisted, face angled up toward the sky, struggling—and failing—to shove all that anger down deep,