He stumbles to the side for a second, one hand rubbing over his cheek, which is rapidly turning red with my handprint.
“Fuck, Lyla.” He grins. “You should know I like it a little rough.” He presses his hand to his dick, rubbing up and down, and rakes his teeth over his lip, giving me a hard look as he undoes the button on his pants and slowly unzips.
“Are you trying to fucking scare me right now, Marshall Vincent the fucking third? Because I’ve seen more in my life and dealt with losers way worse than you. So come on. Bring it, fucker. I’m ready for you. And I’m not afraid.”
He makes a grab for me, managing to catch one of my wrists and squeezes it hard. My other hand grasps his shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to push him away. Desperate, I switch tactics and claw my nails down his motherfucking cheek.
He gasps in disbelief. “Fucking cunt!”
That distraction is all it takes to get him to release my wrist. I grab him by both shoulders and let my knee fly up right into his junk.
He positively howls, hands cradling his sorry dick as he drops to his knees, then to his side. For good measure, I bring my heel down on his ribs. Hard. Pretty sure I hear a crack.
Oh man.The fucker is crying. Boo-fucking-hoo.
I hardly register anything I see or hear as I take off across the gym; my eyes are wild and a buzzing noise fills my ears that I can’t shake. Breathing hard, I flip the lock and throw the door wide open, barreling smack into a hard body. Someone screams out a long string of obscenities that would make even the most hardened criminal blush.
Strong hands grasp my biceps. I strain against them. My brain doesn’t process correctly, and I lash out, pounding my fists against this second assailant. More screams. More foul language.
Oh, shit. It’s me.I’m screaming and fighting the person in front of me, who is holding on tightly to my upper arms, pinning me in place. My eyes finally focus on who it is.
Beau. And I see his lips moving, but I have no idea what he’s saying. He gets right in front of my face, looks into my eyes. There’s a wild scrambling of bodies and shouting all around us. I can’t make sense of any of it. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
And finally, everything clicks and makes sense again.
“Lyla. Lyla, breathe. What the hell happened in there?”
I blink at him. “Th-that asshole. I was working out. He—”
Over Beau’s shoulder, I see Micah come back out of the room, scrubbing the top of his head. “It’s that dickhead Marshall. He’s on the mat back there moaning about broken ribs and how he’s never going to have children. That she broke his dick or something.”
“Good,” I spit. “That fucker shouldn’t be anywhere near women or children.”
“He’s become seriously deranged. He never used to be like this,” Beau mutters.
I don’t miss that there’s a silent conversation going on over my head but I can’t comprehend it at the moment.
Beau runs his palms up and down my arms gently, now that he doesn’t have to hold me in place. “Did he hurt you, Lyla?”
“He wanted to. He said all sorts of filthy, disgusting things about you guys and me and—” My words get caught up in my throat.
Xander rubs his hand over his jaw as he exits the gym. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And there’s blood all over the mat. I think she clawed his face pretty good, but he wouldn’t show me.”
A disturbed laugh ripples out of me. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you grab your junk, unzip your fucking jeans, and whip it out to assault someone.”
Griffin is halfway down the stairs when he hears my words and stops, his brows raised to his hairline. “I sent everyone out to the patio. Scarlett and Daphne are making sure no one comes back in yet. What’s going on?”
I drag in a harsh breath. “Let’s just say that asshole got what he deserved.” I shrug away from Beau. “I should go back in there and kick the shit out of his lame ass again.”
“How about we have these guys deal with him?” Beau’s forehead creases as he studies my fury-flushed face. “I’m more worried about you. Can I take you upstairs? Get you some water?”
I swallow, glancing in the direction that Marshall’s moans are coming from. Raising a hand to brush some hair out of my face, I realize I’m shaking. Badly. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I simply nod.
Beau bends a bit, lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me up to the kitchen and sets me on the stool before turning to open up the fridge and pull out two bottles of water. He places one on the counter and proceeds to uncap the second one before he hands it to me. I take several swallows before I stop.
“That asshole,” I mumble, propping my elbow up on the counter.
“When you’re ready, I’d like to have a better idea of what happened down there.”