Page 68 of Forsaken Vows

He grabbed my arm to help me in. I pulled away to face him.

“I got a question. What is wrong with you? You’re too perfect not to be hiding something.” The thought had me staying up at night. It didn’t make no sense how fucking good this man was to me.

“What’s wrong with me?” he repeated, like he was trying the words on for size. “Plenty.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I got a temper I’ve spent years learning how to leash. I fucked over a lot of women. I don’t like being questioned too much. I can be mean and abrupt. I ain’t perfect, Zane. Not even close.”

He looked me in the eyes. “But I’m honest. I’m yours. And I don’t play about people I love.”

His voice softened.

“So yeah, maybe there’s shit wrong with me. But none of it will ever affect you or my child.” He raised his hand, bringing his thumb to my lips to trace the curve of the bottom one as he leaned in. “You lucked up, baby. You fucked around and found me after I finally became a man.”

Swoon.I swear I almost melted right there into the sidewalk.

“Say something. You got this weird look on your face,” he murmured, his deep voice sliding right over every nerve ending I had.

“I think…” I swallowed, blinking slow. “I’d fight a bitch over you. I ain’t never been in a fight, but I would.”

I said, then slid into the car while he threw his head back and laughed.

We were pulling into the gravel drive of the Airbnb where it all started. We would be there for another three months while our house was being renovated.

I was halfway out the car when a hand grabbed my upper arm and yanked me fully up.

“What the fuck—”

I didn’t even get the sentence out.

Mark.

His face was red, his eyes wild, and his breath hit me in the face, stinking like cheap liquor and anger.

“I saw you. You have a lot of nerve parading around town like this. As if I’m not still your husband?”

“Let go of me!” I shoved at him, panic flaring in my chest, my heart threatening to break out of my rib cage.

“Mark!” I heard Sam yell.

Mark had me in his grip.

Then he didn’t.

Sam snatched him off me with the force of a wrecking ball. They stumbled back, and Mark swung on Sam first. His punch was sloppy, wild, hitting nothing but air.

He missed.

Sam didn’t.

His fist connected with Mark’s jaw so hard I heard it and flinched. Then Mark lunged at Sam, taking both him and Sam to the ground, fists flying, limbs tangled, cursing loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop it!”

But it was too late.

Someone must have called the police, because soon red and blue lights painted the driveway, and stern voices shouted commands.

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