Page 45 of Keep Me Close

Heartbroken men don’t show up at apartment buildings and scream at doormen. They don’t ignore every boundary you set and blame you for their choices. And they sure as hell don’t throw punches when they don’t get their way.

A chill skates over my skin, colder than the wind off the lake.

Dakota isn’t devastated. And he isn’t just too intense or overly emotional.

For the first time, the reality of my situation sinks in.

Dakota isn’t heartbroken. He’s unhinged.

16

Knox

Motherfucker.

I really should’ve seen that coming. The second Dakota nodded and pretended to turn away, I should’ve known the little prick was about to do something stupid. Instead, I let my guard down for half a second, and now my vision pulses on the left side each time I blink.

That’s on me.

I straighten slowly, jaw locked, and blink through the sting. Chey stands in front of me with both hands over her mouth, wide eyes filled with horror.

“Oh my God.” The words come out shaky and thin.

And just like that, the adrenaline roaring through my veins shifts. I still want to go after him. My whole body strains in that direction, every instinct I have screaming to take off down the sidewalk, catch the bastard, and return the favor.

One good sprint, and I’d have him.

One solid punch, and we’d be even.

But I don’t move because Cheyenne is standing here looking scared as hell, and whatever satisfaction I might get from chasing him down isn’t worth leaving her alone for even a second.

Not now.

Not when I can see the exact moment it slams into her that this isn’t just some dramatic ex who can’t let go. This is something altogether different that has the potential to explode.

I glare at the corner he vanished around, my hands curling into fists before I force them open again.

“We should go inside,” she says, voice trembling. “You need ice before that turns black and blue.”

My gaze darts to Chey. Her face is pale beneath the flush from the run, and her breathing is a little too erratic. Her body is stiff, as if she lets go for even a second, she might come apart at the seams.

Fuck.

“Yeah,” I mutter, because right now, getting her inside matters more than anything else.

The doorman stares at us, as if he’s unsure what to do.

I turn to him. “If you see that guy again, you call the police. Immediately.”

His eyes widen. “Yes, sir.”

Chey presses her lips together, but she doesn’t argue.

Good. I’m not in the mood to soften this or call it something it’s not just because the truth is uncomfortable.

We step into the lobby, and the blast of warmth does nothing to quell the uneasiness that clings to both of us. The elevator ride to my place is quiet except for the low mechanical hum and the faint ringing still bouncing around in my skull.

Cheyenne keeps sneaking peeks at me. I catch them in the mirrored panel. Each time, she quickly jerks her gaze away, as if she doesn’t want to get caught looking.