Chapter 203
Two officers haled Liam up. He groaned, his head lolling back. His eyes, swollen to slits, tried to focus on Alistair.
“She…she hit me,” Liam slurred, blood bubbling from his lips. “Domestic…dispute.”
“Unlawful imprisonment,” Chief Miller corrected, his voice flat. He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “We received a tip about a kidnapping in progress. And looking at the other rag and the braising on Ms. Sterling’s wrists, I’d say the District Attorney is going to have a field day.”
“You set me up.” Liam apat, the realization cutting through his concussion. He looked at Alistair. “You know.”
Alistair didn’t deign tower. He simply tightened his grip on Sky’s waist.
“Get him out of my sight,” Alistair ordered.
The officers dragged Liam toward the door. As they passed, Liam hanged, his body jerking against the handcuffs.
“She’s mine!” Liam screamed, the sound tearing through his ruined throat. “You can’t have her! She’s my wif
Skyw flinched, burying her face in Alistair share chest. The smell of him, gunpowder, expensive scop, and raw masculine heat, was the only thing keeping the panic at bay.
“Ex-wife,” Alistair corrected softly to the room.
They walked out into the hallway.
It was an ambush
The moment they stepped through the doorframe, the corridorerupted in blinding white light. Decons of photographers were crammed into the narrow space, cameras clicking like a swarm of mechanical cicadas. Reporters shoved microphones forward, shouting over each other.
“Mr. Thorned it true Liam Kensington kidnapped his ex-wife?”
“Ms.Sterling! Are you injured?”
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“What is the nature of your relationship with Alistair Thorne?”
Sky stiffed. She had not expected this. She looked up at Alistair, confusion warring with the drug-induced home. He had called them. He had weaponized the media before he opened the door.
Liam, being dragged ahead of them, tried to hide his face, hat with his hands cuffed behind his hack, he was defenseless against the onslaught. The cameras captured every drop of blood, every bruise, every ounce of his humiliation.
Alistair stopped. He didn’t push through the crowd. He stood there, shirts, wearing only his suit trousers, with Skyw wrapped in his dress shirt. He looked dangerous, primal, and utterly in command.
He raised a hand. The hallway went silent.
A reporter from the City Chronicle, a woman with sharp eyes, seized the moment. “Mr. Thorne, why are you here? This is a domestic incident involving the Keringtons.”
Alistair looked directly into her camera lens. His eyes were cold, posesive fire.
“Ms. Sterling in my girlfriend,” Alistair declared. His voice was deep, carrying to the back of the crowd without effort. “And anyone who touches her awesome.
The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then shattered. The flashes intensified, turning the hallway into a strobe-lit nightmare.