Priceless (Forbidden Men #8)(38)

Pausing at 5A, I strained to listen to anything happening inside: screaming, cursing, crying. But there was nothing.

I knocked. When footsteps neared, my muscles tensed and my hands curled into fists at my sides.

The latch turned, and the door opened. The guy who peered out looked completely harmless, like maybe he could be an accountant in training. No muscle tone, no tan, receding hairline, thick-rimmed glasses.

I blinked, hating him even though I knew absolutely nothing about him. But, really. Sarah actually went for this kind of jackass?

His brow crinkled as he peered out at me. “Who’re you?”

No polite, “Can I help you?” or “How’s it going?” Just a blunt, “Who’re you?”

Yeah, I didn’t like this dick already. Not in the mood to answer his question, I said, “Is Sarah here?”

He pulled back in surprise. “Who wants to know?”

Done talking to him, I glanced past his shoulder and into the apartment. “Sarah?”

The dick shifted to block my view. Lifting his hand toward my chest, he opened his mouth, probably to spill out some other dick-headed comment when Sarah’s voice called, “Right here.”

That was all I needed to hear. I stepped inside, making the dick sputter and stumble out of my way. When I saw her, I sucked in a breath and jerked to a halt.

Damn.

Reese had obviously gotten hold of her because her hair had been curled into the neatest coils. Her makeup made her lips glossy and too incredibly kissable and her cheekbones appear higher than usual. She wore a black dress I hadn’t seen before that stopped just above the knees, and her feet were encased in the highest heels I’d ever noticed her wearing before.

Sarah was so goddamn beautiful it made my stomach clench. I hated that she’d dressed up for him. Which made me hate him, and then hate myself because I couldn’t be happy for her the way she wanted me to be. But I couldn’t help wanting to kill the guy she looked so nice for.

So I forced myself to rescan her like the concerned friend I was. Basically, she looked...okay. No bruises, no blood, no torn or even rumpled clothing. Hell, she wasn’t even crying, though she looked anything but happy.

Dragging her purse into her lap, she wheeled my way. “I’m ready to go.”

“Wha-what?” Dick-Breath moved between us to intercept her. “What’re you talking about?”

I shoved him out of the way. “You heard her. She’s ready to go.”

“But...” Frowning in utter confusion, he stepped forward again, except I think he knew better than to get between me and Sarah one more time because he faltered when he saw my expression. Irritation flashed across his face. “What the hell is going on? Who are you? Her brother?”

“I’m her ride home, apparently.”

Sarah didn’t bother to tell Dick goodbye. She rolled past me without even glancing his way. And that told me all I needed to know. Dick had to die.

“Hey, you can’t just barge in here and take her like this.”

“I just did, buddy.” I glared his way, stopping him in his tracks when he tried to follow Sarah into the hall. “I don’t know what the f*ck you did to make her text me and ask me to come pick her up, but you might consider packing your shit and moving, because if I decide I don’t like what she has to tell me once I pry the truth from her, I will come back for you.”

Fear and maybe even a little guilt flittered across his face. But he only shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t do anything.” I narrowed my eyes and stepped closer, making him squawk, “We didn’t.”

“We’ll see,” I murmured, keeping sharp eye contact with him as I backed out of his apartment and shut the door between us.

Sarah was already halfway down the hall and waiting at the elevator entrance. By the time I caught up to her, the doors had opened and she was wheeling inside. I silently slipped in with her.

Neither of us spoke until the doors closed and we began to descend, and then, unable to hold it any longer, I stared straight ahead at her reflection in the mirrored doors and quietly, calmly, though barely keeping myself in check, asked, “Did he touch you?”

“No,” she gave the stony answer as she turned her head away from me.

I snorted out my disbelief. “So this is all because he didn’t touch you? Yeah right. I’m not buying it.”

“He didn’t touch me,” she repeated from between clenched teeth just as the first tear tracked down her cheek.

“Motherf*cker,” I growled and slammed my fist into the elevator wall. “I’m going to kill him.”

Sarah finally looked up at me. “No. Just leave it alone.”

“The hell with that. You’re crying.”

“Brandt.”

“You contacted me, Sarah, asking me for help. Well, this is how I deal with it. That f*cker hurt you, so he dies.”

More tears began to fall. Her hand shook madly as she tried to wipe her cheeks, which told me just how upset she was; her CP was acting up because her emotions were high.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe I just wasn’t feeling it and was ready to go home.”

I shook my head. “Bullshit. You’re too polite to flake out on a guy halfway through a date. If you just weren’t feeling it, you still would’ve stuck it out until the end of the night. I know you, Sarah. So I know the reason you didn’t tell that bastard goodbye or even look his way when you left was because he f*cking did something wrong.”