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