“I’m going to shower and get dressed. We’ll head back to the mansion after the parking lot clears. Maybe it’ll give Lisbeth time to calm down.”
. . .
It took two hours to return to the mansion, the typical chaos of noise and activity that happened after a fight welcoming me in. These nights were the only ones Franklin allowed the fighters to let loose, for them to open the doors of the lower floor and bring the women up to celebrate another win.
The night staff, as always, was quietly going about with their work, ignoring the open displays of sex and drugs, alcohol and debauchery.
Hands patted my shoulders, voices calling out in congratulations for having taken another life. But it was all background noise, my focus on one person I didn’t see among the crowd, on the one woman who’d somehow mattered to me since the moment we first met.
Franklin strode toward me when I had almost crossed through the foyer, his suit jacket off, hair frazzled. Lifting a brow at the oddity of his disheveled state, I allowed him to grab my arm and lead me up the stairs to the third floor.
“She’s in your room.”
“Okay.” One word, carefully spoken. A question in its tone.
“It’s not good.”
Turning the corner into the hallway that led to my suites, I heard the crash of glass, the thud of something heavy, the pounding of a door.
We walked through the doorway into the main room and I locked eyes with Connor who stood guard at the doors of my bedroom, his shirt torn at the collar, three long scratches stretching from ear to chin.
“Are you going to kill her?” he asked. “Or can I do it?”
Something crashed again, and my eyes widened.
Connor shrugged. “She’s destroying your room. My advice is to duck when you walk in there.”
I almost laughed at the look on his face, part shock, part exhaustion. “Have you tried to stop her? What the fuck happened?”
He glared at me, and it was comical to see a man as large as Connor actually look panicked over the rage of a small woman. He was trained to kill, but he flinched each time another thud hit the wall.
“She was fine all through the fight. I was behind her the entire time. She tried to look away when you snapped the asshole’s neck, but even then she wasn’t freaking out. But when she saw Isabelle brought out and you grabbed her, it was panic time. She puked all over my shoes, fought like a hellcat to get away from me, and then Franklin told me to get her the fuck out of there.”
Unable to help my grin, I asked, “She did that to you?” I nudged my chin at the ripped shirt and scratches. “To you? A man trained to fight and kill? Maybe I should rethink letting you into the ring.”
He narrowed his eyes on me, his lips thinning until razor sharp. “I’m not allowed to hurt her, remember? Your fucking orders. So here the fuck I am. Keeping her contained, but in one piece.”
Three more thuds came in quick succession, and I groaned. I had to go deal with her before she ripped the entire place apart.
I exhaled, thankful that I wasn’t on edge now that I’d bled most of my violence out with the fight.
“Move. I’m going in.”
“Godspeed,” Connor joked as he stepped aside.
Our eyes locked and he shrugged. “Remember to duck. Hate to see you get your ass handed to you by a girl after winning in the ring.”
Asshole.
Lisbeth could throw all the shit at me she wanted, she’d never be able to hurt me.
Slamming my hand on the door handle, I shoved the door open and stepped inside expecting either a vase to be lobbed at my head or Lisbeth charging me, but what I saw stopped me in place, my brows tugging together.
The brat wasn’t in a full-blown temper tantrum as I’d expected she would be. She wasn’t glaring at me with searing rage, wasn’t screaming or doing anything that would indicate emotional weakness.
The door clicked quietly behind me as I watched her walk calmly through the room, her hand grasping whatever stupidly expensive item she could find before she tossed it at a wall, only to grab another.
Glass shards littered my floor, broken roses that must have been brought in fresh this morning after I left. Ceramic chunks and dust mixed in with the water from shattered vases to create rivulets of mud over