Brent holds up my keys before placing them on a nearby sideboard. I left them in the lock? ‘You knew of his reputation, Eleanor.’
That statement doesn’t make me wilt like it should. It makes me angry. ‘You should leave,’ I declare, sounding sure of that. I am. I trust him about as much as I trust Becker. Not at all.
‘I think we can help each other,’ he says, coming at me, making me back up. Help each other? I’m not even going to ask. ‘Becker Hunt can’t be trusted. We should be looking out for each other.’
‘I want nothing to do with him or you.’ Unease starts to make my voice wavier in its sureness, and that alone makes me angrier. ‘Get out.’
Brent suddenly stops, his eyes widening as he looks past me. It takes a few confused seconds to realise why.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Chapter 2
‘You fucking snake,’ Becker snarls, tackling Brent from the side and sending him crashing into the nearby wall with a gruff bawl.
My stomach flips.
‘You fucking underhanded wanker.’ He has his hand around Brent’s throat to keep him in place, his body quaking with fury, constantly lifting and slamming Brent against the bricks. ‘I fucking told you.’ He hoists him up and swings him around, shoving him up against another wall, knocking pictures everywhere. ‘I told you to stay away from her.’
Every muscle in my body ceases to function, and I remain like a statue, watching Becker go bananas all over Brent’s surprised arse. My eyes could bleed. My mind could explode.
Brent wrestles Becker off and shoves him away, shrugging his suit jacket back into place while he snarls, ‘So you can get your lying claws back into her?’ He swings a fist quickly and cracks Becker on the jaw, sending him staggering back a few paces. My hands come to my mouth, but my gasp can’t be contained.
Becker quickly gathers himself and dives at Brent’s midriff, tackling him to the ground and straddling his torso. He lands an ear-piercing, precisely delivered punch to his face, splitting his lip. ‘I’ll blind you so you can’t even fucking look at her.’
The loud clout and Becker’s savage promise shocks me to life, brings me back into the shop where two arseholes are rolling around on the floor, wrestling, grunting and throwing punches all over the place. They’ve already bulldozed my life; I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them bulldoze my dad’s shop, too.
‘Stop!’ I shout, finding my feet and flying across the shop. I grab the first thing I can lay my hands on, Brent’s jacket, and dig my fingers in, getting the best grip I can. Then I heave with all my might, shouting as I do.
I’m not sure what happens next. One minute, I’m playing tug of war with Brent’s suit, shouting and screaming like an unhinged madwoman, and the next my feet have been swiped from beneath me, sending me crashing to the floor. I cry out as my head ricochets off the dusty wood, tossing stars into my hazy vision. I’m forced to close my eyes to stop the room from spinning.
‘Eleanor.’ Shaky hands cup my cheeks, and my eyes flutter open, trying to turn ten Beckers into one. My face is being stroked, my arm, my leg, my hair, while I try to blink my vision clear. ‘Take your time, princess,’ he murmurs, lifting me to cradle me in his lap. ‘Shhhh.’ The familiar sound is softer than his usual sexy shush, more soothing and loving. It prompts too many memories of when he’s unleashed it on me before. It makes me panic inside, makes me want to push him away before he infiltrates my defences. But I’m not incapable of doing anything while I’m dizzy. I’m mumbling nonsensical words to the air, words that make perfect sense in my head.
Leave me alone. Get away from me. Fuck off, you lying, deceitful, wicked arsehole.
Then his angel eyes appear, those gorgeous, deceiving hazel orbs, gazing down at me, pouring with remorse and guilt. The green flecks are dull. He looks tired.
I snap my eyes closed, hiding from him. It’s all too much. I’m being attacked from every direction by his energy, and I refuse to fall victim to it again. I start trying to remove myself from his clutches, trying to escape. ‘Get away from me.’
He fights with me, winning with ease and pulling me back to where he wants me. ‘Eleanor, please, you’re hurt.’
‘She doesn’t want your help.’ Brent’s sneer breaks into our little scuffle, and I mistakenly relax, giving Becker the opportunity to lock his arms tightly around me.
‘She’s confused,’ he says quietly and unsure, like he so desperately wants to believe that himself.
I might have had the ability to move taken away from me, but my mind is still working perfectly well, and I know I’m not at all confused. Becker is a dishonest arsehole. Fact.
Becker’s chest begins to throb. ‘You have what you wanted. You have the sculpture. You don’t get Eleanor, too.’
Brent has the sculpture. A fake sculpture. The reminder aligns my perspective totally. Brent isn’t here for any other reason than to try and win me over? It would be another score for him over Becker. I’m still a fucking pawn.
‘And you get her?’ Brent asks, clearly interested.
‘Get out, Wilson, or so help me God, they’ll be carting you out in a body bag.’
Brent sniffs and hovers in my field of vision for a few moments, while Becker continues to bristle and twitch, his jerky movements being absorbed by my head and shoulders. I don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll attack. The fury consuming Becker is growing by the second, dripping from his maniac stare, drizzling from every pore. He believes this man’s family is connected to his father’s death. That time on our way to Countryscape when I foolishly asked about his parents gave me a hint of the anger residing deeply inside Becker Hunt, but it was nothing compared to what I’m witnessing now. The roguish, supercilious womaniser has another side. A deadly side. Memories of the joker, the wind-up merchant, the playful, egotistical man that had me falling for him are fading fast.
‘Stay. Away.’ Becker says each word through his clenched jaw. ‘I’m done. You’ve got the sculpture. You win. Your family has taken too much from me already, Wilson. I’ll die before you take Eleanor, too. Now get the fuck out.’
My internal alarm bells are screaming, demanding I spring to life and slap Becker’s face for his nerve. His statement stands for shit because I know that damn fucking sculpture is still out there, and Becker still wants it. I start to squirm, trying to free myself from his hold. Nothing will cooperate. My limbs are tingling with lack of feeling, making my movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
‘Get off me.’ The harsh demand fights its way past my thick tongue and dry lips, my arm breaking free and swinging behind me, catching him on the shoulder. I push myself away from him, but I only make it a few feet, dragging myself to a fake Queen Anne cabinet and using it to pull myself up. The feel of Becker’s determined eyes boring into me as I put as much distance between us as I physically can only increases my fear. He’s not going to make this easy. Neither is my stupid hurting heart. And that adds a drop of anger to the fear.