CHAPTER 23
JONATHAN
I stand there and gape. I know I only have seconds to talk before that thug comes barreling through the door, but it's all I can do. She found him—Cassie found Mr. Wonderful—and gave away her first kiss and everything else, but somehow she's working at a club, stripping for money. The guy must be a total asshole.
I want to scream. This can't be happening. My heart twists inside my chest, but that's impossible because she already ripped it out. But I feel it. I still react to her, to those deliciously dark eyes, and that hypnotic voice. I want to wrap my arms around her and start over, but we can't. We aren't the same people anymore. Besides, Mr. Assface is probably sitting at home waiting for her. Cassie has a life and I'm not part of it. The whole thing pisses me off. This is a million miles from where she wanted to be¸ and I know it.
Barely keeping my temper in check, I ask, "So you found him? And he lets you do this? Work parties? Strip? Maybe even take a guy on the side?" Her shoulders tense as I verbally bitchslap her. Cassie's red lips part and I see the hurt in her eyes, that is, before it's replaced by anger and her hand flying toward my face. It connects with my cheek, stinging the flesh, but I don't move. I stare at her, wondering how she fell so far, so fast.
Cassie breathes hard, her body shaking as her temper flares back to life. "You don't know a damn thing about me, so don't pretend to even give a shit, Ferro." She's in my face, hissing at me in that lethal tone I remember so well. Last time she scolded me like this it was because I provoked her. Maybe I did the same thing this time, maybe I'm not ready to let her rip my heart out twice. It's funny how I thought I was dead inside until I heard her voice again. Cassie Hale is the defibrillator for my fucked up heart. Seeing her again shocked the hell out of me and I'm suddenly so much more than a walking corpse.
Bruce's crazed screams get closer. Doors slam up and down the hall. There are seconds left, and that's it. There isn't another minute with her, and the funny part is that this is nothing like I imagined. I always thought that if I saw Cassie Hale on the street again that I'd verbally rip her to shreds because of what she did to me. So it's strange standing here, watching her tremble, and wanting to pull her into my arms and save her from this shit.
No. She's not my problem, not anymore. But the way she looks at me from under those dark lashes, the way the lights cast a dim glow on her perfect face, and the way she clutches the blanket to her throat like it's a goddamn lifejacket and she's drowning—it's too much. I can't step away. I can't leave her alone to endure whatever fate she's been handed, even if she deserves it.
Pressing my lips together, I step toward her, taking her shoulders in my hands. She stiffens in my arms and it's nothing like before. She doesn't trust me, not anymore. Too many things happened between us. It doesn't matter that I saved her life once. That was a lifetime ago, and that version of Cassie Hale is long gone. But she's not completely lost, is she?
As our eyes drift and our gazes lock, I see her still in there, hidden beneath the fray. I lift a hand and touch the ends of her glitter-caked hair. "I wanted you to find him. Even after everything—I hoped you'd get the life you wanted, the man that was right for you. You meant something to me once. I won't pretend you didn't, which is why I can't fathom you being here, now. You said you found him? Then where is he, Cass?"
Fuck, she looks like she's going to cry. The bottoms of her eyelids flutter and her gaze darts away from mine, but I take her chin in my hand and draw it back. Come on, Cass, tell me what happened to you.
Her lips part, but she can't speak. An awful look floods her eyes as her brows wrinkle together. My hand slips away and Cassie tightens her hold on the blanket. I see her fingers clenching it so tightly that her bright pink nails bite through the weave. She wasn't the kind of girl to wear pink or do her nails with those fake plastic things. Cassie was real, every last part of her.
"It's not what you think. He—" before she can finish her sentence, the door flies open.
Bruce has a terrifying look on his face—he's pissed. The insane rhino of a man rushes at me. His shoulder hits my side at the same time that his fist finds my face. Shit. I'm done talking. All the anger that's been coursing through me comes out in a fury. My fists connect with his freakishly large body over and over again. Something cracks and I hear Cassie screaming in the background, but we don't stop.
Bruce would have snapped me in half by now if I didn't know how to fight, but anger is clouding my judgment. Bruce spits at me as I launch myself at him, grabbing his neck and locking him in place. "You stupid little shit," he huffs, and rank air fills my face. The guy has alcohol on his breath.
I squeeze harder as Bruce slams me into a wall. The force of the impact nearly knocks me loose, but I hold on. Suddenly I notice that there are people there, besides the thug, Cassie, and me, but we don't stop. Using my weight, I manage to throw him off balance and slam his head into a bookcase. The shelf cracks and the contents fall to the floor along with him. When he pushes himself up, a bead of blood trickles into his eye. He leaves it there and gives me a look that says he's going to kill me.
Suddenly, I see who else is in the room. Trystan and Bryan flank one side of me, and Peter and Sean flank the other. Sean is the one who speaks. "Come and get him." Then, I feel Sean's foot in my back, shoving me forward.
I thought they had my back, but when I look at my brothers they both seem pissed. "This is your mess, Jonny."
Trystan steps forward and shoots Sean a disgusted look. "Some brother."
"Fuck you, Scott, you goddamn parasite," Sean bites back.
Trystan flips Sean off and remains at my side. Bryan is a messed up motherfucker because he's laughing like this is funny. He steps next to me and smirks at Bruce after folding his arms over his chest like he thinks this will be fun. Sometimes I wonder about Bryan. The man doesn't seem to value his life, like at all, but all the same, I'm glad he's standing next to me right now.
Then everything changes because the manager of this beautiful building storms into the room, screaming at the top of his lungs about damages and cops. His face is bright red and the little veins on his temples are throbbing like they're going to blow. Shit.
Bryan lets out a huff of air and turns toward the guy, annoyed. "You called the cops? What the fuck is wrong with you, man? You have the richest men in New York standing in your building, along with the rock star over there," he jabs his thumb at Trystan, "and you decide to call the cops? You're going about it wrong, man. You need to call the press." Bryan looks over at Bruce. It's clear he plans to patch things up with the manager if Bruce is ready to let it drop. "Are we done here? Or do I need to stick around, because no one fucks with Jonny Ferro."
Bruce looks like a beast, his massive body straining, muscles tense to the point they're going to snap. He points at me and snarls, "You're not welcome at my club. If you ever show your face there again, I'll rip it off."