Beckett:
By the time I got back to the clubhouse, I was boiling.
No. I was beyond that.
Fury like a livewire throbbed through my veins, heat building with every second as I paced across the lot, gravel crunching under my boots like bones.
That son of a b***h.
That violent, smug, delusional bastard thought he could just take her? Hide her away like he had any right to even look at her, let alone touch her? Like knocking her up somehow gave him a free pass to crawl into her life and plant himself there?
No. f*****g. Way.
She was my sister. My blood.
Ella didn’t know what she was doing. She was scared. Confused. Hormonal. And he was taking advantage—twisting that fear into some sick kind of loyalty, making her think it was safety when all it was, was a cage. He was poisoning her.
And
