Corrupting Cinderella (32 page)

Foot stomp—yeah, that was definitely one of the spots.

Damn, if only I had my shoes on.

I make an attempt to stomp on his instep, but it’s futile. I can’t get enough leverage to raise my foot and end up banging my knee into the metal side of the desk and hurting my foot. For all my trouble, I don’t even think he even noticed.

A noise reaches my ear. Someone’s in the office.

Please let it be Rock.

I’m so, so sorry for yelling at him. I hate that if I never see him again, that’s how we left things.

No!

“Get off me!” I scream with renewed purpose. At the same time, I throw my elbow back and connect with his soft gut. He jumps back enough for me to wriggle free.

Then Rock is there, throwing Greybell to the floor.

“Rock! Thank God!”

I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.

Pulling the pistol out of the holster at my back takes a second. I flip off the safety and hold the gun at my side.

A thump. Sounds like a struggle.

Hope’s voice. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.”

I see motherfucking red.

It takes every ounce of control I possess not to storm down the hallway and murder whoever made my girl say that.

All sorts of thoughts go through me.

Viper? How’d they connect me to Hope? Why here? Why now?

One of the guys from the fight?

Fuck.

Does she have a tarp I can wrap the body in? Because there is no way this motherfucker is walking out of here alive. All these things race through my head as I inch down the hallway. Adam’s office is dark, but light pours into the hall from Hope’s office. Shadows waver over the carpet.

Whispering that I can’t make out reaches my ears. Hope whines.

Fuck caution.

Inside her office, a guy I don’t recognize has her bent over and pinned to her desk. White-hot fucking rage slams through me at the sight. Only concern that I’ll accidentally shoot Hope makes me tuck the gun back in my pants. From this angle, I can’t tell if he has a weapon. I’m worried if I startle the fuck, he’ll end up seriously injuring her.

“Get off me!” she screams, throwing an elbow back into the guy’s gut. He jumps back enough for me to tell he’s unarmed, and I hurl myself at him, grabbing him around the neck. Hope shakes free just in time, because the motherfucker is on the floor with my knee in his chest within seconds.

“Rock! Thank God,” she gasps.

She’s reaching for her cell phone. To call the police, I assume.

“Wait.” I glance down at the scrawny fuck beneath me. “Who’re you with?”

“What?” he gasps out.

Leaning over so my knee grinds into his chest a little harder, I yank his shirt up to check his ink.

No ink on his front. I push up his sleeves. No ink on his arms. I’m about to turn the sniveling fuck over when Hope’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me back.

“He’s one of Adam’s clients, Rock. Don’t hurt him. I don’t think he’s well.”

No fucking shit he’s not
well
. He’s about to be really fucking
unwell
in a minute.

The guy is sobbing under me now, chanting “I’m sorry” over and over again.

Christ.

I ease up my hold on the little fuck, then stand. “Move and I’ll shoot you,” I growl down at him.

With my heart hammering away, blood thundering through my ears, I almost don’t hear Rock threaten to shoot poor David.

Poor David, my ass.

My cell phone is still clutched in my hand, and I uncurl my fingers to hand it over to Rock. I’m shaking way too much to make any sense on the phone.

He gives me a tortured look, as if calling the cops offends him on some basic level. A complex mish-mash of emotions forces me into hysterical giggles. Oh boy. He hates when his
friends
look at me in a way he thinks is inappropriate.

“You okay, baby?” Rock asks as he curves his arm around my waist, pulling me tight to his side.

I bury my face in his shoulder and nod. He shifts his body a bit. “Don’t test me, motherfucker,” he snarls. Then I hear the distinct sounds of him dialing 911. He gives them a brief, clipped version of the story, the address, and hangs up. I’m sure they loved that.

After a few minutes, he squeezes me a little tighter. “You got any zip ties here?”

“Huh?” I shake myself out of his arms, meeting his questioning eyes. Dropping my gaze, I take in Rock’s big-booted foot, pinning David to the floor. The corners of my mouth turn down.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“Is that really necessary?”

His jaw clenches. “Yes. But my leg’s getting tired, so, you got any zip ties?”

I shake my head because I’m not even sure what the hell he’s asking for.

It’s moot anyway, because the banging at the front door signals Empire’s finest has arrived. Rock jerks his chin in the direction of the commotion.

“Let them in.”

Scurrying down the hall, I smooth my hands over my clothes, wincing at all the sore spots along my body. I take a few deep breaths and pray I won’t burst into tears and make a fool of myself in front of the cops.

Dealing with the bastards in blue wears down my last bit of patience for this entire day. The fucker questioning Hope at the moment is dangerously close to having my fist rammed down his throat. Especially if he insinuates one more time that she and that whimpering pile of shit were somehow “involved.”

“Miss Kendall, maybe we should speak privately,” he suggests while throwing me a glance.

Yeah, ‘cause I’m the problem.

I honestly don’t care if I get carted off to county when I jab my finger in his chest, knocking him back a few steps. “You got a woman?”

Fucker has the nerve to sneer at me. “Yeah, a fiancée.”

“What would you have done if you walked in on her bent over a fucking desk, begging some creepy asshole to let her go, ‘cause he was hurtin’ her?”

The cocky smirk slips off his face, replaced by something a little darker that I recognize and actually respect.

“Thought so. Be fucking grateful my girl calmed me down. The way I wanted to handle this was very different.”

He knocks my hand away from his chest. “I’m sure it was, Mr. North.”

I can’t tell if he thinks he’s intimidating me or he actually agrees.

Hope’s soft hand against my chest breaks my focus. “Rock, it’s okay,” she says softly.

It is most certainly
not
okay. Nothing about this is okay.

She turns her head, and in a stronger voice says, “Officer, I’ve told you everything I know. I only met Mr. Greybell once before. He’s attorney Braydon’s client. Adam assured me the guy was a little weird but not dangerous. I have no idea why he attacked me.”

A prison psychologist once taught me these breathing exercises to calm myself down when the need to kill someone struck me. I’d never admit it, but they worked well enough to keep me from acting irrationally more than once in my life. I’m employing one of those techniques right this second, because Adam just walked in and I’m pretty sure if I kill Adam, Hope’s going to be pissed with me.

“What the fuck is going on?” the cocky shit asks.

Since I’m still busy counting to ten in my head, I let Officer Might-have-some-balls answer Adam’s question.

Hope shakes herself free from my hold and storms over to Adam. She’s still not wearing shoes so Adam’s got a good six inches on her, but it doesn’t stop her from smacking his arm. Or yelling at him. “Your
harmless
client fucking attacked me, that’s what going on!”

The look of worry, alarm, regret, whatever it is that passes over his face is probably the only thing that keeps him off my “people I need to kill” list.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay, Hope?” He pulls her in for a quick hug, then pushes her away to look her over. Officer Dickface quirks an eyebrow at me, and I shrug.

Adam’s gaze lands on me, and he groans. “Fuck, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Not today.”

Hope glares at both of us.

The officers who were in the back with Greybell walk him to the front door. They nod to Officer Dickwad. “Taking him in to process.”

“Officer, is jail really appropriate? Maybe he should be sent to a hospital or something?” Hope asks.

Good fucking God, what am I going to do with her?

“Let his lawyer worry about that, Miss Kendall,” the officer says gently, then glances at Adam. “That you?”

“No, sir, I’m an estate attorney. David, is there someone you want me to call?” Adam asks the piece of shit who attacked my woman.

Okay, the fucker just earned himself an
engraved
spot on my list.

The guy must be in shock, because he doesn’t answer or even acknowledge Adam. The cops shrug and lead him out the door, steering clear of me for some reason.

“I’m taking her home,” I tell Officer Donutdick.

He opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it.

One look at Hope, and it’s clear why. Although she was ready to pound the crap out of Adam a minute ago, she’s pale everywhere except her cheeks, which are an unhealthy shade of red. There is some slight discoloration forming on her cheek and around her neck, which sends me into rage-y caveman mode all over again. Her glassy eyes meet mine, and she visibly shivers.

“Can you give me a number in case we need to reach her?” Officer Working-my-last-nerve asks.

After wrapping Hope in my arms, I rattle off my number and address to the cop. Hope, thank fuck, doesn’t contradict me. I’m sure soon she’ll remember we were in the middle of a huge fight, but right now she’s not doing so well. Fight or not, she’s coming home with me, because I’m not letting her out of my sight.

When I finally get her outside, she sucks in the cool night air in greedy gulps. The sun has long since set.

“I don’t feel well,” she whispers.

My girl is proud, so she must be feeling pretty damn bad to admit that.

“When’s the last time you ate something?”