Page 28 of All Hale the Queen

Then I drag him from the room by his hair, hearing “Oh shit. He’s going to kill him,” from someone behind me.

Damn fucking right I am.

Jenkins’s sobs are muffled by the towel, and I don’t meet anyone else in the corridor as I pull him along behind me and shove open the exit door. We emerge into an alley scantly lit by two bare bulbs mounted high on the building.

Jerking on the handful of hair I’m holding, I pull Jenkins upright, not missing the abject fear in his watery eyes. Good. I hope he’s as scared as he made Ophelia earlier.

My hand wraps around his skinny throat, and I pull the towel from his mouth before shoving him against the brick wall. The alcohol on his heaving breaths is evident.

“You think it’s okay to put your hands on a woman?” I growl, pulling him forward a couple inches and then slamming him back against the wall so hard his teeth rattle. “At an event for women who have been victims of violence?” My arm pulls back, fist clenched.

A quiet voice stills me. “Antonio.”

I close my eyes at the sweetness of my name on her lips, and the clench of my fist loosens as I swivel my head. Ophelia stands there with Remi at her side.

Her son speaks this time. “I know you’re mad. I am too, but let’s not spoil this night for Mom by you getting arrested.” That has my other hand—the one around Jenkins’s throat—slackening, allowing him to fall to the ground. It’s as if the beast inside me has been tamed with those words. And with her presence.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I turn to face them. Ophelia’s eyes are wide and afraid. Is she scared of me after seeing this side of me? I’m not sure I can survive if she fears me.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your beautiful event, Ophelia,” I say, unable to meet her gaze.

To my shock, she walks toward me and wraps her arms around my waist. It’s a chaste embrace, but it feels likeeverything. Aware her son is standing there watching us, I keep my hands near her shoulder blades instead of wrapping her up like I want to do.

“You didn’t ruin anything; J.P. did. Thank you for being there,” she says. And then, where only I can hear, she whispers, “I’m not afraid of you, Antonio.”

Christ, how does she know me so well already? How was she able to read my thoughts and know exactly what I needed to hear?

“Security is on the way,” Remi says as his mother releases me.

“Damn, I had planned to throw this rubbish where he belongs,” I lament, tilting my head toward the dumpster at the end of the alley.

“I’d think that would be an excellent idea if there weren’t cameras out here,” Remi points out, his lips turned up in wry amusement.

***

I’m deep in thought as I drive Ophelia home. She seems to perceive my mood because she doesn’t speak much either. A war is raging inside me, the two sides at odds… what I want to do and what I should do.

What I want is to claim Ophelia as my own and scream from the rooftops that she’s mine. On the flip side, what I should be doing is distancing myself. After tonight, it’s obvious I’m not worthy of a woman like her.

She’s classy and beautiful and kind, while I'm a rough man with scars and a volatile temper. And no matter what she says, I know she was scared by my behavior in the alley.

“Stop spiraling,” Ophelia says, breaking through my internal self-flaggelation. I’m a little surprised to find that we’re in her driveway with her garage door open, the side she always reserves for my vehicle when I come over.

“I think I should go home tonight,” I say, staring out the front windshield. I can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Shut up and pull inside. I need you to walk me in.”

With a sigh, I do as she demanded, hopping out of the car as the bay door closes behind me. When I open her car door for her, she rises on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. God, she’s so sweet, only highlighting the resounding differences between us.

Ophelia leads me inside and up the stairs, and I follow along like a good little pup. When we reach her bedroom, my jaw aches from grinding my teeth so hard.

“Ophelia, I really need to go.”

“No,” she states firmly. “I want to clean up your hand.”

Looking down, I notice for the first time that there are deep scratches, and I vaguely remember Jenkins clawing at me while I was dragging him.

“I’m fine,” I state, but the words sound hollow because Ophelia is unzipping her dress, allowing the black fabric to pool on the floor at her feet. She’s left only in a black lace bra, a tiny matching thong, and her fuck-me heels. Mother of god, she is fecking breathtaking.