Reaper's Fire (Reapers MC #6) - Joanna Wylde Page 0,2
to talk this through. You’ll see—”
“Oh, I see already. Your wife was in the hospital, your child was dying, and you cared more about your conviction rate than our survival. I think you’ve made your priorities clear.”
For once—maybe for the first time ever—Brandon didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, staring at me like a big, dumb slug. Satisfying as that was, it wasn’t enough. He needed to go away and never come back. Yup, that was the solution . . . The marriage was over. I should have felt liberated, but I couldn’t feel anything at all. Probably for the best. Grief yawned ahead of me, a black pit I wasn’t sure I’d ever manage to escape. Wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get. Out,” I snarled, sudden anger uncurling and exploding through me. Guess I could still feel something after all. “And take your fucking rings with you. If I have to look at your smug, disgusting face for another second I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Tinker, you need to settle down,” he said firmly, frowning like a stern father. But I already had a dad, and he was better than this man would ever be. Brandon reached for the call button. “Let’s talk to the nurse. You obviously need a sedative or—oww! What the fuck, Tinker?”
It took two hands to raise his massive, overpriced bundle of roses high enough to hit him again, this time across his picture-perfect, spray-tanned face.
“Get out!” I shrieked. Brandon ducked, backing away. I managed to get in one more whack before he got out of range.
“Tinker, you have to settle down!” he shouted. I heard running footsteps in the hall. “Tinker, please—you aren’t thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking straighter than I have in years!” I shouted back, throwing the bundle of flowers after him. “Get the fuck out of my room and get the fuck out of my life! And take your fucking piece of shit diamonds with you, too, asshole!”
Digging through the covers, I found the rings, pitching them toward my future ex as hard as I could.
“Owww!” he shouted, clutching at his face. A few drops of blood hit the floor. “Jesus Christ, Tinker. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s going on?” the nurse asked, pushing the door open. She stared at us, wide-eyed. “Security!”
Things moved fast after that.
As the guards came, I struggled out of the bed, screaming at Brandon like a banshee the entire time. He seemed stunned, completely unable to comprehend what’d just happened, which I thought was fucking hysterical. Brandon’s ego had always operated on the too-big-to-fail theory.
Margarita rushed in, catching my arm and pulling me back toward the bed.
“Calm down or they’ll shoot you full of happy drugs,” she whispered in my ear. My chest heaved as I glared at Brandon, showing him every bit of my utter hate and anguish.
“I don’t want to calm down,” I hissed, wondering if I could launch myself forward and scratch his eyes out before they caught me.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “Because otherwise he’ll think he’s the victim here. Don’t give him that. Knowing your luck, he’ll press charges.”
A snort of laughter burst out of me, because wouldn’t that be just like Brandon? Not that he would . . . Not really. That would be far too embarrassing. Couldn’t risk scuffing up that precious image of his, now, could we?
I looked up to find the guards escorting him out of the room. The nurse was pushing me toward the bed and I did what she said, because everything else aside, I really didn’t want to get sedated or whatever. She helped me sit down, her face firm but compassionate.
“I know this has been a terrible day—probably the worst of your life,” she said. “But you can’t physically attack people or we’ll have to restrain you. Would you like me to call a counselor?”
“I’m sorry,” I told her, which was a damned lie. “And no, I don’t want a counselor. Not right now, at least.”
“That was her husband,” Margarita said. “He couldn’t be bothered to leave work earlier when she was losing the baby.”
The nurse’s eyes widened, and she glanced back toward Brandon.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Margarita confirmed, her face fierce. The nurse shook her head and looked at me again.
“Well, whatever he did, we can’t have people fighting in the rooms,” she said. “Is this going to be a problem?”
I shook my head. “No, no more problems.”
The nurse nodded, then gave me another sharp look.