Pretending (Westshore Series #1)

Chapter Forty-Six: Better Days are Coming

Paul is leaning up against the dorm building and judging by the look on Warner's face he knows exactly who Paul is.

Paul makes a point to look at my body before speaking "Hey Warner, your dad told me you were into girls that looked like little boys." He spits at my feet. "Anorexic whore."

Warner lunges so fast that I blink and he has Paul on the ground and blood is pouring from his nose as Warner throws himself onto him, his blows merciless as they find their mark again and again like a beast unleashed.

"You will not speak to her that way." Warner spits at him and a strangled noise comes from Paul's mouth as Warner draws his other hand back, ready to deliver a final blow.

"Stop" I hiss. Warner's arm stills instantly. I press a hand to his arm. "You're going to kill him if you don't stop."

Warner has a future ahead of him, a bright future at that. I will not let him throw that all away defending me. I have heard worse. These comments are nothing new to me.

Warner's shoulders tense, and then in a moment, they slump as he lets Paul go. "Let this be a warning. Tell my Father that I am done and sending his followers after Juliet won't bring me back. It will only make me angrier."

Paul stays laying on the ground, clutching his bloody nose.

I can see the anger vibrating off of Warner as Adam and Max pull him into the dorm building. Thankfully no one saw or heard the commotion outside thanks to the late-night darkness.

I can tell that Max and Adam have many questions. They just witnessed their teammate almost kill a guy outside and have no idea about Warner's dad and the betting. I'm sure at this point Adam is putting it together but Max looks very lost.

"I need to talk to Juliet." Warner pulls me alone with him and I follow Warner into his room who sits down at his desk and starts frantically writing something down.

He stands then, those green eyes flicker up in my direction,

"He said nice to see you again. When did he see you?" Warner asks flatly. Frustration shines in his eyes.

"He was just outside earlier," I rush out. "He said you weren't answering your phone and told me to tell you to throw the game. And then—"

Warner's entire body tightens, strains, and shifts in ripples of muscle and stress. It is the fact he keeps his face down that worries me.

"And then what?" he asks calmly but I know he is anything but calm.

"He said if I got down on my knees that they would leave you alone. I told him no obviously." I blab out.

Oh boy.

Warner pushes his chair back roughly, smacking the wall with the back of it. With a growl, he rounds the desk and points at the now empty chair. "Wait," he demands and storms out the door.

I should listen to him and wait, but I don't. I am out the door and going after him a split second later. I never was a good listener. If Paul was dumb enough to still be outside, he was a dead man.

Warner is stalking out the door, a phone held up to his ear, and I could hear him barking something ugly and low into the end.

Shit

I gather up my guts and follow after him catching bits and pieces but I stop him at the outside door and slide my finger through the belt loops at the back of his jeans and tug. "Warner."

Miraculously, he pauses.

"Hey, he's gone," I tell him in the most soothing voice I can come up with. My free hand settles on the small of his back. "We can't do anything right now. Please calm down."