His Regret by Bella J.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hunter leanedhis head back against the wall. He had been sitting outside the bedroom for an hour waiting for her to open up the door, to give him something. Anything. Just a clue as to what the fuck was going on, and what he needed to do to make it better.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew they lived in one fucked up world, and that bad things happened to good people all the time. It didn’t take being a genius to figure out that her so-called cousin had done something to her—something that broke her, hurt her. The way she thrashed and screamed in her sleep that morning, scaring the shit out him, all pointed to one thing—and it scared him.

He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to know the truth anymore. Just thinking about what that son of bitch had to have done to her that had her so messed up made his blood boil. It was like he had this deep rooted need to protect her, but also to defend her, to make this man pay for whatever the fuck he did to her.

While thinking of at least fifty different ways to make this asshole pay, the bedroom door opened and Hunter jumped up.

Scarlet stood by the door looking…looking fucking hot. Her hair was sleeked down over her shoulders, lips painted cherry red, blue eyes framed with dark eyelashes. And the red sleeveless dress she wore showed more skin than it covered. The high heeled boots coming up to her knees were like the fucking cherry on top of the sexy. Good God. His cock liked it too.

“Where are you going?” His gaze moved up and down her body, unable to get enough of the sight.

“Out.”

He looked up. “What?”

“I can’t sit here anymore. I need to get out.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. There’s a bar I saw yesterday just around the corner.”

“Scarlet, how can I put this in a way that you would understand?” He rubbed the back of his neck then stared her straight in the eye. “No. Fucking. Way.”

With her hands on her hips, she stared right back at him. “I’m going. And you can’t stop me.”

His head was still spinning, trying to figure out if this damn woman was psycho or just plain fucking stupid, when she turned around, her heels clicking down the stairs.

“Scarlet! Are you insane?”

“No. But I do have cabin fever.”

He stomped after her. “Cabin fever? We’ve only been here for two days.”

“I get cabin fever pretty quick.”

“You’re not going anywhere, you hear me? I can’t protect you when you’re out there on your own.”

She turned around and glared at him. “Then come with me. But either way, I’m going. I can’t breathe here. I need music. I need people. I need to let go, even just for a fucking night. Okay?”

He noticed she was biting her bottom lip, and something inside him settled a little, telling him to back off and let her do what she needed to do.

“Fine. But I’m coming with.”

She smiled. “Great.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, and watched as she walked out the front door.

With a long sigh and a few F-bombs he grabbed the keys and walked out behind her. She was standing next to the car with her back toward him and all he could think about was how damn hot she looked. The way that dress hugged her curves like a second skin, her hips accentuated perfectly under the red fabric. It felt like she was born for no other reason than to torture his dick.

He stepped up beside her. “You look nice.” And he opened the door for her.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Being nice.” They looked at each other, her blue eyes cold and hard. She was first to break eye contact, and slipped into the car before he closed the door.

The entire way to the bar the air between them felt thick, suffocating, like both of them had so much to say but no one wanted to say it. Or maybe they didn’t know how to say it, or where to start.

When he parked the car, she was out of it in record time, heading up the stairs to the bar without waiting for him.

Fuck me.

Something told him it was going to be a long night. Especially when he noticed all the motorcycles parked around the bar, then thought about the dress Scarlet was wearing. Back at the house, the dress seemed fucking perfect, showing him everything he wanted to see. Now it seemed way too fucking short, way too tiny, and he really wanted her to cover the hell up.

Hunter walked in and immediately spotted her standing by the bar, slamming down her first shot of something.

Jesus, this definitely was going to be one long-ass night.

He stepped up next to her. “Scarlet, you sure that’s a good idea?”

She glanced at him. “What? Drinking? Are you insane? That’s the perfect fucking idea.”

With two fingers held up, she indicated to the bartender for another round.

Hunter shook his head. “I don’t want any.”

Scarlet groaned. “Oh my God. Are you going to be a stick in the mud tonight?”

“Are you going to be trouble tonight?”

She snorted. “I love trouble.”

“It didn’t seem that way when you were crying in my arms earlier, begging me to protect you.”

Scarlet froze and he immediately regretted saying what he did.

“Scar—”

“Don’t worry, Ace. What happened this morning will never happen again.”

“I didn’t—” But she had walked off before he could finish his sentence. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist into the counter and looked at the bartender. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”

For the next two hours Hunter sat quietly at the bar, never taking his eyes off Scarlet. She had consumed her fair share of shots and drinks, and was dancing to some or other Rihanna song playing on the jukebox.

It was safe to say that all eyes were on her.

There were about thirty men in the bar and it seemed like every last one of them was tearing her clothes off with their eyes. With every passing second, with every sordid glance in her direction, Hunter felt this odd twinge inside his chest.

What was that? He knew he had this weird need to protect her ever since he met her, but this was something different. Something stronger. Something disturbing…something that felt a lot like jealousy. Hunter almost choked just thinking of the word.

To add fuel to the fire, a huge motherfucker with shitkickers and a leather jacket stepped up to Scarlet while she was dancing like a fucking stripper. All she needed was the damn pole. And Hunter was willing to bet the guy standing behind her staring at her ass like it was a piece of meat he wanted to sink his teeth into would be more than willing to serve as the damn pole. Fuck! Now he was just getting angry.

The huge motherfucker placed his hands on Scarlet’s hips, pulling her against him. And Hunter felt like he was about to kill something.

Roughing a hand through his hair, he took deep breaths, trying to get a grip and to not freak the fuck out over the fact that some strange guy was touching Scarlet. After all, she wasn’t his. They played, they fucked, and now it was over. The number one rule he had lived by for the last few years, the rule that kept him levelheaded, and the rule that protected him from making the same mistake twice was now in motion. He couldn’t fuck her again, even if every bone in his body was screaming for him to. It was done. The deal was closed. There would be no more screwing Scarlet—ever.

Tossing back another shot of tequila, Hunter turned around, away from what was happening on the dance floor. Scarlet could do whatever or whoever the fuck she wanted, but he sure as hell did not have to witness it.

About two songs later, the bartender handed him another drink.

“You sure you’re happy with your girl dancing like that with some other guy?” He gestured to the dance floor. Hunter turned around and saw Scarlet dancing with the same big motherfucker, her hands wrapped around his neck, her ass grinding against the guy’s crotch.

Hunter balled his hands into tight fists, wishing he had the right to punch that guy’s face in. The way his hands were on her hips, moving up her sides, brushing against the sides of her breasts…

Jesus Christ. That’s it.

Hunter shot up, the chair falling back with a loud thud, and he stormed toward them.

Those were his hips. His ass. His breasts. It was his fucking Scarlet, and he would be damned if he allowed any man to touch what was his.

That was right. His. Fucking his.

“Take your hands off her.” Hunter scowled at the guy with the scarred face, shaven head, and muscles to boot.

“Mind your own business, buddy.”

Hunter stepped closer, determined to beat the shit out of the asshole. “I said. Get. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off. Her.”

“Hunter, what are you doing?” Scarlet glared at him.

He glanced at her for a split second before returning his stare of death to the guy behind her, who still hadn’t removed his hands from Scarlet’s hips.

“Take your hands off her, or I will break them.”

“Hunter, you have no right—”

“Shut up, Scar.”

Scarlet stepped in front of him, blocking off the view he had of the big-ass motherfucker. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but back off. This is my business.”

“Not when another guy has his hands all over you it’s not.”

Scarlet frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Big-ass motherfucker leaned over Scarlet’s shoulder. “You want me to take him outside, babe.”

“Babe?” Hunter pushed Scarlet out of the way and came face to face with the guy. “Walk away, asshole, or you’ll get your ass handed to you, along with your tiny little balls.”

“Okay, stop!” Scarlet wormed her way between them and placed her hands on Hunter’s chest, pushing him back, then turned to the guy. “I’m sorry. Maybe some other time.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Hunter spat from behind her.

The guy’s stare darted from Scarlet to Hunter, and then back to Scarlet. “Fine, whatever, man. I don’t have time for a slut anyway.”

And then Hunter lost his shit.

With all the strength from hell, he launched forward, aiming for the big-ass motherfucker’s face before two arms grabbed his shoulders.

“Break it up, guys,” the bartender said. “We don’t tolerate this kind of shit in here. So unless you two start behaving, I suggest you call it a night.”

Hunter was shaking, the rage burning inside of him like the deepest pits of hell. He could feel his veins protruding from his arms, his fists clenched tight. He was ready to break that guy’s goddamn neck.

How the fuck did this happen? Since when did he act like a jealous boyfriend when it came to a woman? All possessive and shit.

“Hunter!” Scarlet yelled, and he spun around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Me? What am I doing?” He pushed his finger hard against his chest, the rage still burning like an inferno inside his veins. “You were the one practically fucking that guy on the dance floor.”

“So what if I was? It’s got nothing to do with you. We slept together once. Once, Hunter. And you made it perfectly clear that it will not happen again.”

“Yeah. But you don’t have to go and fuck the first guy who shows the slightest bit of interest in you.” Just the thought of someone else claiming her had him feeling like his head wanted to explode.

“I can do whatever the hell I want. And if I want sex, I can have it with whoever the fuck I want.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Is this what it’s about? You want sex?”

“What if it is? We both know you’re too much of a pussy to give it to me…again.”

He didn’t think. He didn’t even fully process what he was doing when he grabbed her arm and pulled her off the dance floor, dragging her toward the restroom—and he wasn’t gentle about it. He felt her falter a few times while he dragged her behind him, but he didn’t slow down.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He stopped in front of the men’s restroom and opened the door before pushing her inside, his gaze locking on hers. “I’m going to give you what you want. And I’m going to give it to you now.”