“Tell me what the f**k you were thinking!” he thundered.
“Fuck you!” I screeched. “And let me the f**k go!”
I yanked hard at his wrist. It went down and I let it go. I quickly slid away only for his arm to hook around my waist and haul me right back where he stepped in and pressed one hand into my belly and curled the fingers of the other one around the side of my neck.
And I was immobilized. Again.
“Tonight, you coulda died,” he ground out.
“I didn’t.”
“Or you coulda been made not you, he did damage but didn’t take your f**kin’ life.”
“That didn’t happen either,” I snapped.
“It could have.”
“It didn’t.”
He got nose-to-nose with me again and clipped, “It could have.”
“He hit her!” I yelled.
“She makes that your problem, you call me, I deal with him. You don’t go into an uncertain situation armed with goddamned, f**king pepper spray. Strike that, you don’t go into an uncertain situation at all!” he ended on a shout.
“Well, next time, I won’t seeing as there won’t be a next time.”
“Damn straight,” he bit off.
“So, if you don’t mind letting me go, I’ll get the rest of my shit and then go.”
“What?”
“Let me go, Tack, so I can go.”
“You’re not going,” he growled.
“I’m not?”
“Fuck no.”
“Wrong!” I shouted in his face and kept shouting. “Let me go!”
“You need to get this and you need to get it right f**kin’ now and you doin’ what you’re always f**kin’ doin’, runnin’ away and lickin’ your wounds means you will not be gettin’ this.”
“Wrong again, Tack. I don’t need to get anything. Not anymore. Badass biker lessons are over because we’re over.”
His head jerked back an inch and he whispered, “What?”
“We’re f**king over!” I shrieked and pushed at his abs with my hands, his middle rocked back but he came right back in.
“Fuck me, not this again,” he muttered.
Oh no.
Oh f**king no.
“Step back,” I hissed.