Chapter 382
“Why?” Hunter stepped closer, invading her space. He smelled of sour wine and entitlement. “You’re single now. And let’s be honest — you’re damaged goods. Who else is going to want the ex-wife of a cripple?”
The rage coiled in Eliza’s stomach. “He’s twice the man you’ll ever be.”
“Is he?” Hunter laughed. “Then where is he? Hiding in his tower while I take what’s mine?” He reached out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was wet and clammy.
“Let go!” Eliza tried to pull away. He yanked her toward him.
“Come on,” Hunter whispered, leaning toward her neck. “Just one kiss. I bet you miss a real man’s touch.”
Eliza didn’t think. She reacted.
𝗜𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀.𝗰𝗼𝗺
She balled her free hand into a fist — not a slap, a fist — and swung.
Her knuckles connected with Hunter’s nose.
Crunch.
Hunter howled, stumbling back. Blood spurted from his nose, staining his white shirt. “You bitch!” he screamed, eyes watering. “You broke my nose!” He lunged at her, raising the champagne bottle like a club.
Click.
The sound of a heavy lock disengaging.
The black glass wall didn’t shatter. A hidden door panel swung open.
Dallas Koch didn’t wheel out. He hauled himself into the doorway, body trembling violently, one hand gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He looked like death warmed over — pale, gaunt, tubes in his nose.
But in his other hand, he held a silver cane. And in his eyes, there was murder.
“Touch her,” Dallas wheezed, leveling the cane at Hunter, “and I will kill you.”
Hunter froze. He stared at the ghost before him. The rumors hadn’t prepared him for this. This wasn’t a broken man — this was a cornered wolf.
“Dallas?” Hunter stammered, his drunken bravado evaporating. “What the hell…?”
“Simmons,” Dallas said, his voice a low rasp.
Simmons stepped out from behind him. He didn’t have a cane. He had a taser.
He fired.
The prongs hit Hunter in the chest. He convulsed, dropped the bottle, and hit the floor with a thud.
Eliza stood frozen — not looking at Hunter. Looking at Dallas.
He was standing. But the effort was costing him everything. His entire body shook with the strain.
“Dallas,” she whispered.
She took a step toward him.
Dallas looked at her, his eyes filled with a terrible, crushing sadness.
“Don’t,” he gasped.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed forward.
Eliza screamed. She lunged — not to catch him, but to break his fall. She braced herself, but his weight dropped like a stone. She couldn’t hold him. Her knees buckled, and she went down with him, cushioning his head against her body as they crumpled to the carpet in a tangle of green silk and black wool.
“Dallas!” She cradled his head. His skin was burning.
“I’m sorry,” Dallas whispered, blood trickling from his nose — not from any punch, but from the internal pressure. “I tried… to stay away.”
“You idiot,” Eliza sobbed, pressing her forehead to his. “You stupid, stubborn idiot.”
Vinnie Sharpe came running up the stairs, Vance close behind him.
“Code Blue!” Vance shouted. “Get the stretcher — now!”
.
.