Page 42 of Saving the Last Heir
“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, Dusty,” I said, snarling at him and finally yanking my arm away. “Go fuck yourself.”
I clipped him with my shoulder as I passed him, shoving him out of the way. Dusty stumbled and almost fell. As much as I didn’t want to show weakness, I couldn’t help but pick up my pace as I headed for my car. Fear clawed at the back of my mind. I’d never seen Dusty as an actual physical threat. He’d always been nothing more than a prickish horndog with delusions of being a ladies’ man. Now, I saw him for what he truly was. A predator. I’d been too blinded by his ridiculous appearance to realize it until now.
Just as I grabbed the door handle, fingers dug into my shoulder and spun me around. With vicious and surprising force, Dusty shoved me against the car. My head swung back and thudded against the Jeep, making my vision blur for a moment.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Dusty hissed, his face inches from mine. “You’re gonna sign over your shop for the extremely generous offer I made, then you and I are gonna go to my place, and I can show you what a woman is really good for. And if you do averygood job, maybe I won’t shove my dick in your mouth after I fuck you in the ass. You’ve always been a snotty and uppity bitch. Someone should have knocked you down peg or two before?—”
I slammed my fist into his stomach, forcing every ounce of air from his lungs. His eyes bulged, and his face turned beet-red. Clutching his stomach, he sank to his knees on the asphalt.
“Motherfucker,” I spat.
My rage was like a swirling storm. The words he’d said to me bounced through my head, growing in volume and gaining power. How many other women had he tried that shit with? How many women had he forced himself on or coerced into bed? Women who might not have been as strong as I was? He was a nasty prick and deserved what he was about to get.
“You…you…” he gasped out.
I ground my teeth together. “Hey, limpdick? You wanna see what mytree trunk legscan do?”
I decided not to kick him in the face. Broken teeth might be enough for him to call the cops on me for assault. As justified as my actions were, it would have been hard to argue when he looked like shit while I was unscathed.
My foot slammed into his crotch, crashing into his cock and balls. Dusty’s face turned even redder. He collapsed to his side, his hands moving from his stomach to his crotch. Stepping back, I watched in horrorandsatisfaction as he opened his mouth and vomited all over himself. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I finally turned back to my car.
“Don’t come to my shop again,” I said over my shoulder as I got in. “Don’t call, don’t text, don’t write. If I see you again, I won’t just kick you in the balls, I’ll fucking cut them off.”
I locked the door, then quickly sent Jackson a text to let him know all was good.
The tires screeched as I slammed the gas and pulled out of the shop’s parking lot, leaving Dusty rolling around in his own puke. For the first mile, I punched the steering wheel and screamed my rage into the night. The gall of that man, thinking he could take what he wanted simply because he was a man, made me want to lash out at the world. In my experience, ninety-nine percent of men were good and kind. Maybe not gentlemen, maybe not polished, but good people. It was the one percent like Dusty that gave them all a bad name. He was the polar opposite of Jackson.
When I pulled into the parking lot of my shop, my anger had subsided a bit, replaced by deep loathing and irritation. It was in the haze of those storming emotions that I got out of my car and stormed toward the shop. It wasn’t until I was almost to the door that I realized Jackson wasn’t there.
“Jackson?” I called. No response.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, thinking he might have somehow slipped in using some sort of dragon magic, but the whole place was dark and silent.
“Jackson?” In the confined space, my words echoed off the walls and machinery. He wasn’t here.
A tremor of unease slid, serpentine-like, through my mind. A dozen thoughts flipped through my head of how things could have gone wrong, but then I slapped my palm to my forehead and laughed. He had to get the car.
“Damn, girl. Gotta calm down.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how fast Jackson could get to the cabin in his dragon form, since I was sure he’d held back with me, but the drive here would be close to an hour—maybe a bit more since he’d probably want to stay well below the speed limit so as not to attract attention. With nothing to do but wait, I went about cleaning and organizing the shop.
An hour later, while I was lubricating our brake lathe, a creaking, metallic noise came from the largest of the garage doors. I dropped my tools on the counter and headed for the shop entrance. Unlocking the door, I pushed it open and stepped outside.
Relief spread through my chest, and a grin burst across my face. Jackson was leaning against the garage door, the Lamborghini parked beside him. When he looked at me with that confident calm on his face and sexy smirk, somethingelsespread through me. Heat, unctuous and delicious, blossomed low in my belly. God, he was so cute. I had to force myself not to rub my legs together, hungry for the friction the movement would cause. I quickly shoved those thoughts aside.
“Looks like you had yourself little joyride,” I said, smiling back at him.
“She handles like a dream.” He held up the key fob. “Wish I could have really opened her up, but I played it safe.”
“Is that what you always do?” I asked, deciding to get a little flirty.
“What do you mean?”
“Playing it safe. Is that what you always do? Or do you sometimes do things thataren’tas safe?” My tone shocked me. It was flirty and sexy, and I was a little terrified he’d shoot me down immediately.
Oh my god, Shyanne!What are you doing?
I ignored that nagging voice, which I usually didn’t. For most of my life, I’d focused on my job, on my family, and my neighborhood. My boyfriends were always second priority, and my own needs a third. Why shouldn’t I have something for myself? Besides, it would be fun to do something outside my norm.
