God, no.

Not him. Anybody but him.

He looks her up and down and lets out a slow whistle.

"Jesus, you look like sin," he marvels, his hungry eyes roaming over her body. If only he knew.

I take in an angry breath and clench my fists at my side, forcing myself to calm, assess and think before I react. At the time, I thought the anger management course I had to take as a condition to my probation was complete bullshit, but now I'm grateful for the training. I count to five and focus my thoughts solely on her. On getting her the fuck away from him as soon and safely as humanly possible. And maybe a little on the way her body sways in that dress as she walks.

He finally notices me and makes eye contact over her shoulder. His expression changes from surprise to anger to understanding when he catches me watching her. A sneer slithers across his smarmy little face.

"I can't wait to peel you out of that dress later," he gloats, loud enough for me to hear. He smirks over her shoulder again. He's taunting me, the little shit.

My palms are sweating, my hands shaking with rage. The combination causes my laptop to slip from my grip. She turns toward the sound of the plastic cracking on the pavement, but he grabs her arm and spins her, pushing her back against the truck with a thud. She must be freezing with all that exposed skin pressed against the frigid, hard metal.

He grabs her hip with one hand and the back of her head with the other and kisses her, hard and sloppy. The spectacle he makes of pawing at her confirms my suspicions. He saw the way I was looking at her before I could stop myself. He wants a confrontation.

It takes every ounce of everything I have not to react. His hands are where mine just were. He's tasting her sweet, spicy mouth and smelling her minty, vanilla scent and touching her soft skin, and it's absolutely maddening. Even more so because what I told Blaise is true. I am the bad guy. She's his girlfriend, not mine.

But she doesn't know everything. If I had known Montgomery was the boyfriend, I would have told her everything. I would have shared my suspicions and warned her. He's manipulative. Dangerous. And fuck if that's going to be hard to believe now, coming from me, when my ulterior motives are so clear.

I'm moderately satisfied to see her hands balled in fists at her side the whole time he kisses her. She stiffens at his touch and wriggles, clearly uncomfortable, until she works her hands up between them and presses them to his chest. She doesn't want this.

She doesn't want this.

Screw probation, he needs to get his hands off her. I stalk toward them. His mouth is still on hers and I still don't know if she even knows I'm here, but he must know I'm approaching because right as I open my mouth to call out to her, he releases her hip and holds a hand up, subtly raising his index finger. He reaches down slowly and rests his hand on the butt of his gun. I freeze, a cold chill running up my spine.

This is nothing like last time, when I had the clear physical advantage. I once again have to force myself to stop and assess.

The eerily deserted parking lot is shielded by the building on one side and the woods on the other. Montgomery's in uniform and armed. On paper, I'm a violent criminal and he's a damn hero. He even has a mugshot of me to distribute to the media.

This mother fucker could shoot me dead right now, right in front of her, and with my history and his badge, he'd get away with it, too. I'd be dead, she'd be scarred for life, and he'd face no consequence. There would be no justice. It's a terrifying and helpless feeling to be completely at the mercy of an asshole with that much unchecked power.

Bile rises in my throat, and I don't know if it's because of the hand on his gun or the hand tugging on her hair, angling her mouth to the side. She manages to push him off and yank open the door. He smacks her ass as she climbs in the truck, and winks at me as he walks toward the driver's side, his palm still lingering on the weapon at his hip.

She slams the door and her head raises, her eyes finally meeting mine through the dirty windshield. The tortured look on her face devastates me. She raises her hand just slightly and wiggles her fingers at me in a small wave. She's saying goodbye. She's leaving with him. I know she deserves more than what I can offer but he's worse. So much worse.

Stay.

Choose me.

I want to say the words. I want to say them so damn bad. "Don't choose him," I mouth. Her eyes round, a tear finally falls as she holds her hand to her own chest and presses it there, as if she's holding her own rib cage together. 

He's smirking as he starts the truck, then looks at her, his smile dropping. He looks at me, then back to her again. His eyes narrow to slits before he turns and says something that makes her flinch. He peels out onto the street, leaving me reeling on the edge of the parking lot.