Maybe not, but since Kell had no idea how to put a pretty pink Band-Aid on the situation and make it all better, the thought of taking out his anger on Tate seemed like a damn fine idea. Yeah, he should probably 'fess up to the truth that Tate was a better man and Kell resented him for it, but beating the hell out of him would feel so much better. His gut rolled with rage. Unfulfilled desire warred with a terrible sense of self-loathing that had been constantly weighing him down since his divorce.
Except those moments when Belle had looked at him with her big dark eyes sparkling with trust. She'd been so gorgeous as she placed herself over his lap for her first spanking. In that moment, he hadn't thought of anything but her, the way she smelled of jasmine, how warm her flesh had become as he disciplined her, the undeniable certainty that his spanking had made her wet. She'd responded to his touch with absolute honesty and openness, all but offering him her innocent body.
Kell hated like hell that he couldn't accept it.
"You're a pathetic piece of shit, Kent. You ruined everything." Tate never held back.
Which was good because that meant Kellan didn't have to stifle his words, either. "I didn't see your boy over there getting on his damn knees and thanking her for remaining pure for him. He was just as shocked as I was."
Eric's jaw tightened, his face going stony. "Of course I was shocked."
"Don't stop there. Spit it out. You weren't any happier about her whole virginity thing than I was, you shit. You're going to let me take all the blame though, aren't you?"
It was typical. He always got to be the bad guy. He took the hits for the whole team while Tate and Eric sat back and played the good guys everyone loved. He might have earned it, but he was damn sick of it.
"You're so far off the mark," Eric insisted. "I'm glad that I'll never have to picture Belle letting some random asshole grunt and sweat on top of her. Look, none of us imagined Belle would be a virgin. It was a shocker, but that just means it's time for us to slow it down and talk a little. We sure as hell shouldn't blow the whole thing up. Do you have any idea what you did to her by walking out?"
"I could have handled it better; I'll give you that. But did you stop to think that she misled us a little? Tell me what virgin is ready to just hop in the sack with three men? She either didn't know what she was getting into-and if that's the case, it's a good thing we stopped-or she didn't really intend to be with all of us." Kell couldn't resist a sidelong glance at Tate. Being left in the cold was his buddy's hot button, and if Belle hadn't planned on embracing the big guy … well, better that he found out now before he fell even harder in love.
"She kissed me. That wasn't a good-bye, you asshole." Tate took that moment to curl up his fist and rear it back.
Kellan just stood there. Maybe this hurt would detract from the agony twisting his guts. The impact came, and he was surprised at just how hard Tate, a man who watched way too much science fiction television, could punch. Kell's jaw took the brunt and pain flared through his system.
He saw red. It triggered his aggression. Immediately, he went on the offensive, putting every ounce of his roiling rage into his fists. Before he really knew what he was doing, he had Tate on the ground, pounding into the man who had been his friend for nearly a decade. When Eric tried to get between them, he just decked Eric, too-a hard crack to the chin.
"Stop. Please stop." Belle's shaky pleading broke through the furious haze that filled his head.
The three of them stopped everything, just froze as if someone had hit the off button to stop all motion. Vaguely, he was aware that his body ached. Blood trickled down his lip, but the shame that suddenly overtook him was worse than any physical discomfort.
Belle stood before them looking more stripped of confidence than he'd ever seen her. With eyes swollen and nose red, she'd obviously been crying. The sight of her tears kicked him in the gut, tearing through him in a way Tate's fists couldn't. Her pretty cocktail gown was wrinkled. Just minutes before, she'd been naked in his arms and she'd practically glowed. Now her light was gone, replaced with a deep grief stamped into her face. His words had done that to her.
"Please stop," she said, her voice beyond weary. "I can't stand the fact that you're fighting, especially about me. Please."
He scrambled to his feet because he couldn't cause her another moment of pain. "I'm sorry, Annabelle."
He took a step toward her, and she flinched back, shaking her head. "Don't."