Chapter 17

I didn’t know he was planning to breathe so loudly when I agreed to move in with him.

-Reagan talking about Tyler

Tyler

I stared at Dusty through the windshield of my police cruiser.

He was laughing, carrying on and having a grand ol’ time while eating outside at one of my favorite restaurants with some brunette who looked to be roughly the same size and shape as Reagan.

The only difference was their hair.

Reagan’s was curly. This girl’s hair was not.

The passenger side door opened and I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Bennett sliding into the passenger seat.

The moment the door closed after him, I could tell that he was not happy—and the sad thing was I couldn’t tell if it was directed at me or the man in front of us.

“Reagan wouldn’t press charges,” I told her father.

“We already tried that,” Bennett admitted. “I’ve tried to get a restraining order. No go. Hell, I know a lot of people and I still couldn’t get it done. Short of killing him, something I’d like to do but really can’t, my hands are tied.”

I nodded.

My hands were tied, too.

“I went ahead and submitted the order for her,” I told him. “It can’t hurt to try. Being it’s a different county, we may get lucky.”

Bennett snorted.

“Yeah.” He paused. “Maybe.”

We sat that way in silence for a few moments, watching as Dusty curled his hand around the girl’s shoulder and pulled her in close.

“I want to beat him with his own hand,” I whispered. “I want to hack it off with my pocket knife, then beat the crap out of him with the bloody stump until he sees that what he did was wrong.”

“He won’t ever see wrong,” Bennett explained. “The guy has no fuckin’ conscience. He honestly doesn’t think that he’s doing anything wrong. It’s like he has these rose-colored glasses on that prevent him from seeing the wrong that he’s doing. It’s sickening and I agree with you. But I’ll do the other hand, that way it’ll take half as long.”

Neither one of us said another word.

Not for a long time.

“I never thought I’d be saying this to you.” He paused. “But I like the idea of you with my girl…even though I know way too much about your past, you did something I’m not privy to today.”

I felt my lips twitch. “I tried really, really fuckin’ hard to stay away from her.”

Bennett snorted. “Yeah? And how’d that work out for you?”

I squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. “Not well at all.”

Bennett sighed. “You’ll come to family dinner in two weeks? My son’s home on leave and my youngest daughter will be home from college. Make sure you force Reagan to come.”

I looked over at him. “She won’t want to?”

Bennett laughed. “You’ll see what I mean when you get there.”

Then he was gone.

But he didn’t actually leave.

He walked in front of my cruiser and headed in Dusty’s direction.

Once he was close enough for Dusty to see him, he waited for a good thirty seconds, making his feelings known without even saying a word.

I probably would’ve stayed in my cruiser.

I also probably would’ve managed to keep my temper under control, but then he moved his hand up to the neck of the girl he was dry humping and making eye contact with Bennett and without stopping what he was doing to the girl, he mouthed a few unmistakable words.

You can’t do anything.

That’s when I lost my patience.

Getting out of my patrol car, I walked around it and stalked in the direction of the piece of shit that had nearly taken something from Reagan that I’d never have been able to get back.

Brushing past Bennett, I came to a stop beside the girl, who looked at me in confusion.

Dusty snarled at me. “Go away.”

He saw me reach into my pocket and froze when I pulled out my phone.

I’d periodically been getting messages from Rome. The first one was of Reagan’s fingers. Every single fingernail was broken.

The second picture was of the side of her face, where she’d either been shoved against the ground or had fallen in her attempt to get away from him and slammed it against the ground herself. The bruise stretched from the top of her cheekbone to the bottom of her jawline.

The third picture was of Reagan’s forearms—her defensive wounds that she’d acquired while trying to push the piece of shit off of her.

But the pictures weren’t what I was searching for. It was the voice recording.

Pulling it up, I hit play and allowed both the woman and Dusty to hear Reagan’s cries and pleas.

Hell, the three other closest tables heard as well.

It didn’t bother me that they did.

I wanted everyone in the world to know what a piece of shit Dusty was.

Once I hit the minute and a half mark, I looked the girl in her eyes and said, “That was him.”

She jerked out of Dusty’s hold so fast and harshly, that she fell into me.

My body absorbed the blow, but before I could reach up to steady her, she was gone.

My eyes met Dusty’s.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t threaten him like I wanted to. Didn’t kick his ass, even though it deserved a kicking more than any ass in the world. I also didn’t pull my sidearm out and kill him, although I will admit that the idea crossed my mind and I was tempted to end this piece of shit’s life before he harmed Reagan, or anybody else for that matter, ever again.

He read every word of my hatred for him in my eyes.

And when I was sure he got the message, I turned around and walked away.

Passing Bennett, I headed to my cruiser and prayed that when I got to Rome’s place, Reagan would forgive me.

Because if I didn’t have her in my arms tonight while I faked sleep, there was no telling what I might do.