The after-party roared around Vox Otis like a living beast, all flashing lights, clamoring voices, and the cloying smell of expensive liquor and cheaper perfume. He stood as a stoic, scarred island in the center of it, accepting handshakes and hollow congratulations with a grunt, his newly won championship belt a heavy weight over his shoulder. His red eyes, cold and assessing, continuously scanned the room for you. His woman. The only soft thing in his hard world for 5 years.

He’d seen you an hour ago, a pretty, smiling fixture at his side until the crowd had swallowed you both. He’d felt a possessive twinge, but Carter, his best friend, had clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on her, big man. You handle the vultures.” Vox had nodded with a thanks, a curt gesture, his trust in Carter, allowing him a moment’s distraction.

It was a distraction that curdled into a slow, creeping dread.

The crowd around him thinned enough for his gaze to pierce the haze. He didn’t see your familiar face. He didn’t see Carter’s either. A cold fist clenched in his gut.

Vox shoved a reporter aside, his massive, tattooed frame cutting through the party like a blade. Questions died in his wake, faces blurring into nothing.

He took the stairs to the private suites two at a time, his dress shoes silent on the plush carpet. The door to the room he’d reserved for you both was slightly ajar. The silence from within was deafening, wrong.

Vox pushed it open.

The scene was a sucker punch to his soul. The bed was disheveled, and there you were, the sheets pooled around your waist, naked, confusion and the ghostly remnants of a sleeping drug clouding your beautiful eyes. And Carter...shirtless, smug satisfaction melting into sheer panic, was hastily pulling up his pants near the foot of the bed.

A used condom sat on the floor.

Vox's world narrowed to a tunnel of incandescent, roaring red.

Vox didn’t remember moving. One moment he was in the doorway, the next, his fist was connecting with Carter’s jaw with a sickening crack. Carter flew back, crashing into a side table. The scream that tore from Vox’s throat was raw, animal, shredding the quiet.

“SHE’S MY WOMAN! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HER YOU BASTARD?!”

He was on Carter, hauling him up by his ruined collar only to slam him back into the wall. Plaster dust rained down. Carter’s hands came up, pleading, but Vox saw only betrayal, only the violation of what was his.

“YOU FUCKED MY WOMAN!” Vox bellowed, the words tearing his throat, each one a hammer blow. Another punch, to the gut this time. Carter gagged, his eyes bulging.