Page 21 of Waging War
That incessant crawling sensation intensifies up my neck. “So you didn’t know whether or not she was mine, but you were going to put your hands on her anyway?”
I don’t care that she’s not my woman; no means fucking no.
Grabbing her shoulders, I give her a little shake and stare into her glassy eyes.
Fuck.She’s definitely high.
Bruce’s newly invented drug is derived from Rohypol—the date rape drug—but it’s uniquely addictive in that it doesn’t cause the blackouts or hangovers like its counterpart.
I’ve heard the guys around here talk about the intense feeling of euphoria they get within minutes of ingesting the drug. It then mellows out to something similar to that of marijuana, where they’re relaxed and happy.
Trouble is, Rhyomine’s high is short lived, and increasing the recommended dose can knock a person completely unconscious and even paralyze them for hours.
The lethal glare I shoot at Bruce’s men matches the deathly tone of my voice. “Which one of you gave her Remi?”
Neither of them respond, fueling my fury beyond seeing red.
Alfonzo’s head barely reaches my chin, and I enjoy the fall of his ego when I shadow him. “If you touch her again, I’ll break every one of your goddamn fingers while you beg me for mercy.”
His nostrils flair as he takes a step back.
“What’s going on here?”
Collectively, we whip our heads toward the door.
I straighten, detaching from Sam’s grip on my arm to pull her out from behind me. “Your men are out of line.”
Bruce looks bored as he studies Alfonzo and the other man.
They turn to Bruce as if to gauge my authority over them, but he simply shrugs. “You heard him. Keep your hands to yourself.”
They shuffle several paces away.
Samantha mumbles something to herself that I can’t quite make out before directing her gaze toward the floor.
“Are you aware that they gave her asampleof your supply?” I ask, stalking past Bruce and back to where I was lifting.
He eyes me curiously, but I turn my attention to the bar I’d loaded before I was interrupted. The tang of old metal wafts off my hands as I lift it above my head and continue my squats.
It’s cool down here due to the winter chill, but that’s not what has a smattering of goose bumps breaking out across my arms.
Bruce’s unwelcomed attention is the culprit.
“That was an interesting display,” he says, ignoring my question.
Puffing out several breaths, I burn through five squats before acknowledging him. “Don’t read into it. The guys who work for you are scum,” I say loud enough for them to hear.
“Speak for yourself.” He smirks.
I push through five more squats, forcing myself to act casually as I drown out the desire to put my fist through his face. It’d be easy, though, wouldn’t it? Bruce has a little extra weight on him, and he’s got a good fifteen years on me, at least. I could easily take him. Smashing his head with a thirty-pound weight would end all our problems, and it’d take me less than a minute.
Just a few heart beats of time, and I could end this.
“You won’t do it. We both know you’re not capable of killing, Benjamin.”
Bruce now stands directly in front of me. While sucked into the darkness of my mind, I didn’t even realized he moved.
Are my thoughts so obvious?
