23, Trashed

Bane was seething with anger. He wanted to kill someone. That someone preferably being that little shit squirming on the floor in the break room. He would have made Dave follow his friend as well, for good measure. But for once, he had controlled his bloodlust.

The reason was trembling in his arms as he made his way to the back door of the club. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t used to the violence that was a natural part of his world. The sight of her trying to defend herself with a fucking fork while that vile creature put his hand on her, had pushed Bane close to losing his sanity. She was his, and no other man was to place his hands on her.

“Bane, I think I can walk on my own,” Emma’s frail voice said.

“You are precisely where you should be,” he told her as he forced himself to keep his voice soft.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“I know you are. I’m not,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said, relaxing in his arms again.

Bane wasn’t lying. Having her in his arms was the only thi