Page 39 of The Bloke

Colby stepped into me, and I didn’t move, not even a subtle flinch. I wasn’t afraid of him. I should have been, but I wasn’t.

He gripped my wrists and pinned them beside my head against the wall, his bright blue eyes shifting from my left hand back to mine and searing into them.

“Where’s your ring, love?” He questioned.

Oh shit… he thinks I took it off to hook up with someone, doesn’t he?

I sucked in a breath, and instead of answering, I shook my head.

Would he even believe me after what he just saw? How long had he been standing there? Did he know it wasn’t consensual? That I told him to stop?

I’ve never found him intimidating until now, at least not in the aspect of murder, and instead of it scaring the shit out of me, something twisted in my heart, and it twisted in desire for him.Was I that fucked up?

Unable to find the words or any justification for why I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring, my lips parted, and my eyes dropped to his lips—a silent plea.

I may need to reconsider my hatred for my husband because what I was feeling as I stared into his eyes was anything but hate.

Chapter 17

Colby

Skulking around the backalley of Fallout was not what I had planned for my evening. I only hoped that whoever was causing the problems of assaulting and raping women here would make a move tonight so I could kill them and be done with it. If they didn’t show up tonight, I would be obligated to return every night until they did.

I arrived shortly after midnight. Post-show rehearsals ran later than expected, so there was a chance I had already missed them if they struck earlier, but it would make sense for them to attack closer to close, based on the women being either wasted or drugged.

You could hear the music out into the alley, so it was no surprise that no one would have heard the screams of the victim if she were even capable of trying.

Nick couldn’t give me any information regarding the condition of the women during the attack, just what was done to them. Even though it was a huge problem, the owner tried to keep it as quiet as possible to avoid damaging the reputation of his establishment. No surprise there.

After an hour of waiting, I repositioned myself to crouch against the cement wall of the nightclub, rolling my shoulders and neck, which had begun to stiffen. This dirty fucker just had to pick the back alley. They couldn’t do this inside the club? Maybe in the bathroom or somewhere that had a place where I could sit while I waited? Fuck.

I yawned, checking my phone for the time—almost one-thirty.

I should probably check in on my wife…

Just as I opened my tracking app, the back door of the nightclub opened, and I slipped my phone into my back pocket, silently pressing my back against the wall to hide in the shadows.

My eyes caught on a familiar set of hot pink heels. I took a step forward to approach her when a man dressed in all black stepped out of the door and caged her against the wall.

He brought his face close to hers, whispering something into her ear. With the music filtering into the alley, I couldn’t hear a single word of their exchange, but the moment I saw his hand slide up her thigh and under her dress, my blood boiled, and I saw nothing but red.

Fisting my hands tight enough to turn my knuckles white, I tried to calm myself down to approach this situation without flying directly off the handle. I didn’t care if he was or wasn’t the fucker I was here for; he was a dead man for touching my wife.

“Need some help there, mate?” I offered, stepping out of the shadows and attempting to play this off as a casual gesture, while deep down, I was seething with malicious intent.

“Fuck off and find your own pussy, man. This one is mine.” He spat, not even giving two shits who I was or why I was out here.

The fact that he saw my wife as just a pussy to take advantage of and fuck sent me over the edge.

I shoved my hands into my back pockets while swaggering over to them as a means to keep them to myself. Not only that, but I did it to grab the handle of the butterfly knife I had brought with me.

My wife’s blue-grey eyes met mine, and I could see the unshed tears building within them. She wasn’t out here with him intentionally; I could see that now. Whether he followed her out of the club by chance or lured her, it didn’t matter. Her safety mattered; her eyes told me everything her lips couldn’t.

“Funny you should say that because she’s not yours…” I paused, stopping a foot away from them. “She’s mine.” I finished coolly, dragging my tongue along the front of my teeth before making a tsking sound.

“Look, ass—” He started, turning to face me, but I didn’t let him finish what he was about to say. Instead, I pulled the butterfly knife from my pocket, flipped it open in a single fluid motion, and violently stabbed him in the center of his throat, blood spraying my face from the impact.

I held him there for a few seconds, enjoying the desperate sounds of his struggle for air and survival. It didn’t take long for him to stop breathing entirely, and at that point, I let go of the knife, his body falling to the floor in a bloody mess.

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