Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC #5)(16)

He looks back and forth between us and as I watch the wheels turn in his head, making the connection, his jaw sets in place, his fists flexing at his sides. I chance a step back. It's a bold move and not one I would have made without an audience.

"She's my fucking wife. And she no longer works here." Dylan steps toward me again and the warning look in his eyes tells me I better not move away from him. He grabs my arm above the elbow, his fingers digging in. I wince. Dylan moves quickly between the tables, not caring that I can barely keep up as he pulls me toward the door. But when I look up Cutter is already there, blocking the exit.

"Let-her-go."

His stance is tall and domineering and he is more intimidating than I have ever seen him before. His shoulders are hard and his voice is more commanding and definite than I have ever heard it before. I feel like I should be scared of this side of him, but I'm not. I feel strangely safe.

Dylan releases my arm and squares up to Cutter. If the situation had been different. I probably would have laughed. Dylan's head barely reaches Cutter's chin, and my boss's broad chest and strong shoulders cast a shadow over my husband.

"She is my wife. My property. You will not tell me what I can and cannot do with her!" Dylan alternates between banging his chest with his fist and pointing a finger at the center of Cutter's chest, his nostrils flaring, the telltale red flush creeping from his collar and through his face. Not waiting for a response, he grabs my arm even harder this time and looks back to Cutter as if he is expecting him to move.

Cutter takes a step toward us, reducing the gap to mere centimeters. 

"That is exactly why I kicked your sorry ass out of my fucking club. You think you're a man because you can boss a woman around? Does controlling them make you feel tough? You're fucking pathetic. Now I'll give you one last chance to let her go before I rip your arm out of its fucking socket."

I can see that his patience is running thin and if I'm honest his demeanor right now scares me. I don't know him too well, but Cutter doesn't strike me as the kind of guy with a lot of patience. The twitch of his jaw, the way his brows are low over eyes so dark I can barely see his irises, are all signs that this is a man not used to being disobeyed. My hand comes to rest on Dylan's elbow. "Please," I say, because as much as my husband terrifies me, I don't want the situation to get any worse.

Dylan's lip curls. "Listen, you dumbass motherfucker-"

Before he can say anything else Cutter's fist connects with Dylan's face, sending him crashing to the floor, momentum taking me with him. My head hits the carpet, but as I begin to scramble to my feet, I feel strong arms under my armpits, hauling me up. Dylan staggers to his feet, clutching at his cheek, and lunges toward me. Like so many times before, my arms come up to cover my face, but before Dylan can do anything, Cutter moves me behind him with one arm, using the other to give Dylan a shove. My husband is so disorientated from the earlier punch that he falls to the floor like a drunk.

Cutter turns to me, his eyes searching my face. For what, I don't know. He lifts a hand and I flinch. Then I see it. I see the pity that floods his gaze. The exact reason why I keep what happens in my home a secret. I don't want people to think badly of Dylan.

To know that I'm weak.

That I'm incapable of keeping my husband happy.

Slowly, his eyes on mine, he lifts his hand to my face, his fingers curling around my jaw in a feather light touch. I blink, hiding my tears behind my eyelids. He moves my face first left, and then right, his fingers moving from my jaw up to my temple and then back down again. I open my eyes, feeling a traitorous tear escape down my cheek. His gentle touch is calming. He nods once at me and I want to believe what his eyes promise me.

Everything is going to be all right.

Dylan grunts and Cutter grabs my hand and moves us through the club, back toward the hallway that I stupidly chose to come out of. I follow him, looking back over my shoulder to see Dylan's eyes on us.

"Get your fucking hands off my wife." And then he's moving through the chairs, tossing anything in his way to the side. Glasses fall to the floor, shattering. As he gets closer I see the veins in his neck bulging.

Cutter looks back. "Jasmine, go back to the office."

"But-"

"Jasmine, everything will be fine. Just go." His voice is so calm and it's almost like I can feel it moving through my body. I want to protest, but the need to be away from Dylan is overwhelming. I look down the hallway then back at Dylan.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Dylan shouts. As my feet start to move, he explodes. "I swear to fucking God, if you walk away you'll regret it."

Cutter looks at me and it's almost like his gaze forces me to take another step.