Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(46)

“I have every right!” Sal’s taut, fists clenched. “That bakery belongs to me, and so does she.” He points a shaking finger at me, not even making eye contact with me, as if I’m a dog or a car or a piece of furniture.

Nick explodes. It’s a silent detonation as he leaps at Sal, pummeling with clenched fists. I step back, afraid of getting caught up in the flying fisticuffs. They’re wailing on each other, fists striking flesh again and again. Blood splatters from Sal’s mouth, and he staggers back a step.

Suddenly there’s another man in the fray—two, then three. They’re all wearing suits, and I recognize them as Sal’s crew. Guys I served dinner to more than once at Sal’s house. They go for Nick, one of them grabbing at Nick’s arm to intercept another punch that’s headed for Sal’s face.

Sal, though, doesn’t seem grateful for the help. “Get out of here! Get the fuck away! This is between him and me!” He swings, then, right at one of his own men, catching him in the jaw.

“What the fuck, Sal?” the man protests, clutching his face.

“I didn’t ask for your goddamn help!” Sal sounds like he’s lost his mind, his voice a screech that barely sounds human. “This asshole is mine!”

He takes another swing, which Nick ducks. I don’t know what to do. If this goes on much longer, one of them is going to kill the other.

Sirens start to screech in the distance. Somebody’s called the cops.

“Boss, we need to go.” One of Sal’s men tugs at his sleeve and gets backhanded for his trouble. “The cops are coming!” he shouts, pressing one hand against the side of his mouth while he tries to get through to Sal, who’s apparently gone completely out of his head.

Nick moves in again and shoves Sal with both hands. Sal goes to his ass on the grass. “Get the fuck out of here, Sal, before I end you.”

Sal shoves back to his feet, going after Nick again, but two of his crew grab him and drag him back toward the car. Nick turns to me and gives me a once-over. “You okay?”

I nod, wide eyed. Nick’s got a bloody lip, and one eye looks like it’s starting to swell shut.

Sal’s still yelling as his men push him into the backseat of one of their dark sedans. Nick spares them a glance, then his attention shifts to the bakery.

“Shit,” he says, and before I can say anything, he’s running for the front door.

“Nick!” I yell after him. “Nick, no! It’s not safe.”

But he disappears through the door. I can’t stop him, so I run in after him.

He’s heading for the back, and I follow as he heads for the stove. He flips the switches all to Off, finds the master shut-off valve behind the stove, and cranks it off as well, then moves to the nearest window.

“Get the fuck back outside, Sarah!” He shoves the window open.

“No. This is my place. I’m not leaving it. And I’m not leaving you.”

“Then open a goddamn window.”

We open window after window, and the gas smell starts to dissipate. I don’t know if it’s safe yet, but it’s definitely safer. When he finally heads for the door again, I can barely smell the gas at all.

It’s only when we’re back outside, on the grass again, that it hits me. He went back inside. Not for money or papers or valuables, but just to save the building. For me. Because he knows it means something to me.

For a long few seconds, all I can do is stand there, staring at him, a strange swell of emotion filling my chest. Then he takes my hand and leads me toward his car.

“Let’s go home,” he says, and I nod.

#

Nick refuses to let me drive home, which is probably for the best, because my hands are shaking so badly I’m not sure I’d be safe to drive anyway. He doesn’t say anything about the car—just leaves it in the street where I parked it. I assume he’ll come back and get it, or send someone for it. It doesn’t matter. I just get into the car as told and fold my hands in my lap, hoping Nick doesn’t see them shivering.

He barely looks at me. His focus is laser sharp out the car window, as if we’re driving some kind of complex obstacle course. He’s clenching and unclenching his jaw, though, so I’m pretty sure he’s not so much paying extra attention to the road as ignoring me to keep from blowing up at me.

I’m surprised he hasn’t done that already. I disobeyed him, after all. If it’d been Sal, he would have berated me, hit me, and probably locked me in the house until he felt like I deserved my freedom again.

Nick’s just wrapped in a steely quiet. Wondering how long it’ll be before he explodes and what will happen when he does is almost as stressful as knowing exactly what he’ll do but not exactly when. I clench my fists tight.