Isla shook her fist as a burn beat through her fingers.
The first boy she ever punched was in first grade. She’d climbed the steel jungle gym. Even in her saddle shoes and pink skirt, she beat the boys to the top. It was school picture day. Isla’s curled pigtails bounced with each hoist. Though she had white tights on, Ben Wyatt peeked up her skirt and mocked her underpants. The seven-year-old perv, in his sailboat sweater, was photographed with a bruised, swollen right eye and cut lip.
Why couldn’t she have fought back when Ronan was ripping her to shreds and stealing her innocence? She had no problem knocking her husband down with an uppercut and a kick to the groin. God, she was screwed up.
When Reed swaggered toward her with bed head and a sleepy gaze, she lost control and attacked.
The corners of her lips curled upward as she watched Reed squirm on the floor, payment for the visual Isla concocted in her brain of her husband screwing the mystery whore in the hotel’s silken sheets.
“I think I’m—I’m going to throw up,” he said in a higher octave.
“Good.”
He dry heaved and gasped. “My jaw.”
“Good.”
“What’s your problem?”
Isla stood over him holding her hand. “You’re my problem. You arrogant, narcissistic asshat. Joe Abbott told me where you were and that you were with another woman. How do you think that looks, Pot?”
Reed reached the edge of the counter and pulled up. “You don’t—”
“Did you have something to do with the set up of Crosby’s dad? Is that why you are hiding out here with some slutbag?” Charges poured from her mouth. “Are you trying to prove something to Ellis? To the families? To prove you can hurt me?”
A pale Reed wrapped ice cubes in a paper towel and offered it to Isla. “Your knuckles are swollen.”
“I don’t want your stupid ice. I want you to tell me why you are here and not home. Your father is looking for you, Carys is worried, and you think of only yourself.”
He held the makeshift ice pack to his chin. Reed’s bloodshot gaze stayed on Isla. She felt claustrophobic, like his stare was pulling the walls in around her and she was unable to move.
“Are you done?” he asked in a calm, low tone.
She blinked and gathered air for another vomit of verbal insults but stopped. “For now.”
“I’m going to ignore the fact that you barged in here and assaulted me for reasons you psychotically prattled on about. I don’t know anything about Crosby’s father. I haven’t spoken to Martin in weeks. I’ll call my father back, and Carys has her own problems to worry about. And furthermore, I don’t have to justify anything to you.” He dumped the ice and paper towel in the trash and wiped his hand on the back of his T-shirt. “You’ve made it clear our marriage was nothing but a business transaction.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Vulgar, Isla. I don’t know of any woman. I’m here alone.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I love you. God help me, I do, but you don’t give a damn about us, so stop pretending you do.”
She did, though. She hated Reed for it, but she hated herself more.
In a moving glance, Isla saw his hurt. The same hurt she walked away from the night he accused her of cheating. He crossed the kitchenette; a burst of sun hit her eyes. Reed’s watch reflected off a stream of light. He picked up her purse from the floor and handed it to her.
“You need to cool off.”
He didn’t let go when she grabbed the strap. The flicker of a distorted emotion passed between them. “Martin Sutton is an evil man. Stay away from him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I’ll deal with him.”
“Will you?”
His lips thinned, and he let go. Isla’s cell phone vibrated in the outer pocket. She walked around him but stopped just short of the door and glanced over her shoulder.
“For the record, I never dirtied our vows with an affair. I would never do that to you.”
She didn’t know why she said it. Isla left the penthouse suite but didn’t want to wait for the elevator. She hurried down a few flights of stairs and pulled her phone out.
Ellis: Come to the office.
Isla: On my way.
The echo of a slammed door kicked up her downward pace. Winded, she pushed open the heavy door and entered the underground parking garage. Her rubber soles squeaked against the polished cement floors. Though the garage was fully lit with wands of fluorescent light, it was false security.
The stench of exhaust and oil pricked her nostrils as she drew closer to her car. Across from her, a windowless van idled. A loud thud came from inside. Isla paused. The van rocked back and forth, then stilled. Her fingers wound tight around the straps of her bag. Fluttered heartbeats rippled up her throat. The van’s back doors flung open. A woman jumped out; her heels pounded the ground as her long dark hair swung behind her in a tightly gathered ponytail.
Isla held her breath while the woman scanned the garage. The woman set her sights on Isla and crossed with sleek but firm strides. She pressed her finger to her lips. The woman was scary and reminded Isla of a posh assassin in leather pants and stud-toed boots. Blots of red were on the woman’s white blouse.
Her adrenaline spiked.
“Don’t try to run from me, Isla Pierce.”
Her name rolled elegantly but roughly from the woman’s tongue. She was the woman cussing out whoever on the phone in Martin’s lobby.
“You’ve been following me.”
She smirked. “My name is Kata. Your husband wanted a watchful eye kept on you.”
The two stood face to face between a pillar and a sports car. Kata’s defined facial structure could cut glass. She was gorgeous, and Isla hated her because she was positive this was the woman with Reed.
“How do you know my husband?”
“Don’t be jealous,” Kata teased.
“I’m not,” she said, but she was. “I was informed of your affiliation with my husband here at this hotel. I don’t like it, I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.”
“Do you fear me?”
Isla shook her head. “Death showed me her wings. I fear nothing and no one.”
“Reed spoke of your strength.”
Kata skimmed the garage again and stepped closer to Isla. She smelled of citrus and mint. “Reed and I are not lovers, but we do share a common interest.”
“And that would be?”
Kata lifted her gaze above Isla’s head, focusing on the convex mirror. Her eyebrow arched. Full lips twitched. Her chest stilled. The posture was familiar to Isla.
Enemies approached.