Page 34 of Xander

My eyes landed on the pathetic excuse of a man trying to fumble his way out of the pile of broken glass. His arms flailed comedically as he struggled to balance on the wet floor. Sparkling liquid cascaded down his body, drenching his pretentious clothes.

I lunged for Henry.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted, eyes wide with horror. He had never seen me lose my shit before.

I tackled him to the ground. Punch after punch landed on the sick fuck’s jaw. Blood dripped down his face.

Jordan was by my side within seconds. She wrapped her arms around my biceps to pull me off.

“Xander, stop!” she shrieked. “You’re going to kill him.”

Good.

That was the mission.

The sounds of laughter died away in the main ballroom, and the music had abruptly stopped. The others must’ve heard the commotion.

Horrified guests trickled into the hallway and gasped as they gathered around the scene. Bystanders murmured hushed rumors and floating theories of what started this one-sided fight between father and son. Camera phones were out to document this monumental family moment.

“Enough! Xander, please,” Jordan pleaded desperately as Henry’s face lolled to one side. Her blonde hair had fallen into messy strands, and her cheeks flushed with exertion as she struggled to separate us. She clung to my arms, blue eyes flickering with determination. “Please, stop. Everyone is taking photos. You’ll lose everything if you continue. This isn’t worth it.”

She was wrong. It was worth it. She was worth everything to me.

I paused when her face contorted with fear, eyes darting between me and the nearly unconscious man. Cursing internally, I let go of Henry’s collar and let him slump against the ground.

“We have to leave.” I grabbed her hand and hauled her outside.

“Where are we going?”

I glanced around to find Henry’s minions charging toward the hallway. He kept a security team on retainer for these parties. They manned the front of the house to ensure uninvited guests didn’t sneak in. These affairs were usually much too refined for internal conflict. This was a first.

“We have to leave. Now!” I repeated as they gained on us.

Throwing my suit jacket around her shoulders, I turned away from them in favor of the back entrance.

Jordan was forced to keep up when I tugged at her hand, stunned. She stumbled right as I smelled the hint of champagne on her breath. It seemed she had indulged in one too many. Perhaps it was for the best. The alcohol would numb the pain until I could tend to her injuries.

Taking advantage of her momentary lapse in judgment, I purposefully walked past the exit and led her to my rental car parked out back.

I opened the passenger side door and practically hauled her inside, clipping in her seat belt before rounding the car and turning on the ignition. Peeling out of the driveway, I left the festering chaos in the rearview mirror.

I glanced at Jordan, who had closed her eyes and was out like a light, a combination of the alcohol and physical trauma driving her to exhaustion. Brushing a thumb over her cheek, I bit back my ire for not getting to her faster.

I was busy speaking to my cousin and now regretted the lapse of time I allowed.

Never again.

Jordan sat up straight once we arrived at the port. “Where are we?”

I parked the car without answering.

The moonlight cast slivers of light onto the water, highlighting our main attraction—a luxury yacht towering over the other boats. Jordan stepped out to study the imposing yacht. As we neared the white vessel, the wind blew through her hair, carrying a salty scent.

Jordan’s heels teetered on the wooden dock. “Whose boat is this?” she asked, taking in the multiple levels and decks that seemed to stretch forever. Large windows allowed a glimpse inside the lavish interior.

“Mine. I bought it with my cousin.”

“Damon?” she asked inquisitively since he was the business mogul.