Angel (Fallen Angel, #3)(49)
The guy elbowed his friend and snorted as he lifted his camera in our direction. “I told you fags were pansies.”
I whirled in his direction. “What the fuck did you just say?”
The punk sneered at me from behind his camera. “You heard me.” To Halo, he said, “Aw, did that hurt your feelings? You gonna get your cocksucking boyfriend to defend your honor? You’re disgusting.” He spat on the ground by our feet, and as I lunged at him, Levi grabbed my arm, holding me firmly.
“He’s just trying to provoke you to get a shot that sells,” he said. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I gritted my teeth, hesitating. My head knew Levi was right, but I wanted to rip the guy a new asshole. Over Levi’s shoulder, I pointed at the jerk-off. “Not another goddamn word.”
When he didn’t respond, I reluctantly let Levi usher us through the crowd.
Until the dumb shit spoke again.
“What’d you have to do to get this job, huh? Suck Viper’s dick?” He shoved Halo, who deflected it this time, pushing him back.
I saw fucking red.
Before any of the guys could stop me, I jerked my arm away from Levi’s hold and charged the asshole who couldn’t keep his mouth shut or his hands off what was fucking mine. I was on him in a heartbeat, landing a punch to his jaw before he could see me coming, and as he stumbled back, his arm swung out, the camera in his hand nailing me in the back of the head. It hurt like fuck, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from leaping forward again, ripping the camera out of his hand and smashing it on the ground. Then I jerked him up by his shirt, and he squirmed like a caught fish in my hands, striking out at my face and catching me on the lip. I pulled my arm back and punched him again, and this time there was a loud crack. Blood trickled out of his nose and down over the corner of his mouth, but before I could nail the fucker again, I was being pulled back by multiple sets of arms.
“Viper, stop. Jesus, stop.” It was Killian’s voice, but my focus remained on the motherfucker in front of me until Levi stepped in between us, holding his hands out to stop us from getting any closer. My chest heaved, my entire body hyped up on adrenaline and needing to get in another hit or five before I’d be satisfied.
I charged forward again, but the strong arms wrapped around me held me back. The punk looked down at his camera, and when he realized it was completely shattered, he met my eyes with pure fury. I gave him a savage smile, enjoying the way the blood dripped off his chin, even as my gut twisted. It was one thing for that hate to be aimed my way, but to direct it at Halo? No. Fuck no. That wasn’t gonna happen.
“Viper.” Halo stepping in front of me was the only reason I took my eyes off my target. But one look at the sheer panic on the angel’s face had the fight draining out of me in two seconds flat. His eyes roamed over my face, his hand coming up to rest against my chest. It was a comforting move, not one to stop me from going anywhere, not that I had any desire now to be where he wasn’t.
As I focused on Halo and tried to calm my breathing, I became aware of cameras flashing all around us, capturing every second of what had just transpired, and shit. I had just lost my mind, and while I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what that said about me, I knew everything that’d been said to Halo would be printed. His family would read that. Other people would read that.
The thought ran through my head that this would be the breaking point. This would be the catalyst for Halo telling me this shit was too much. That even if he did care about me, it wouldn’t be enough to have to endure the harsh words and actions of those who disagreed with who we were.
I swallowed hard, a sinking feeling in my stomach as Halo softly said, “Viper? Let’s get out of here.”
Thirty-Four
Halo
“VIPER?” I STEPPED out onto the private terrace of our penthouse suite at Chateau Marmont with an ice bucket in one hand and some cotton balls, a tube of antiseptic cream, and a hand towel in the other, and as I made my way over to the patio table under the wide awning, my eyes drifted to the silent man who stood over by the balcony.
Viper had been so quiet on the drive back from the awards show this evening, and as he stood staring out at the sparkling Sunset Strip with a glass of whiskey in hand, I wondered what exactly was running through his head.
Tonight had been a whirlwind of activity and emotions, and as the cacophony was replaced with the quiet calm of a balmy summer night, we both had a chance to stop and examine every little thing that had happened.
There’d been some thrilling highs: attending my first awards show, winning and taking home three out of the four awards we’d been nominated for, and meeting Jennifer Aniston. But they’d soon been shoved aside by one major low: when that asshole paparazzo had gotten all up in my face and spewed his homophobic diatribe, making Viper lose his shit.
God, I’d never been the kind of guy to argue with my fists—not ever—but when that dickhead had shoved into me to get my attention, and then said those hateful words, Viper hadn’t thought twice. He’d launched himself at the man, shutting his mouth by planting his fist in it, only to then be smashed in the head with the guy’s camera.
I winced, remembering the sound it had made, and then placed the bucket of ice on the table and headed over to Viper.