My testosterone spikes. My heart jerks. My body tightens. Adrenaline shoots through my body and my mind snaps. My control, my fucking sanity. Snap! I’m going to kill Scorpion, and I want to dismember him before I do. Spreading his teeth across the floor. Pulling his brain out of his fucking head.

I’m fully engaged.

I’m going to dismember and get rid of the fucking threat. NOW!

Brooke moans softly, and I look down at her, pale, scared, and trembling, and my murderous determination grows tenfold at the thought of anyone, anyone, messing with my girl!

“Pete, I saw his goons downstairs in the lobby. I think he’s here at the hotel,” Riley says.

“The motherfucker is probably downstairs waiting for Remington,” Pete murmurs, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Oh, he has it coming!” I thunder. “He’s already dead!”

I’m going to make it slow. And painful. And I’m going to shove a burning firecracker up his fucking ass AND WATCH HIM EXPLODE!

Brooke. She’s trembling. She’s holding onto me, expecting me to protect her. He got to her in my fucking hotel suite! I will never fail to protect her again. Nothing will ever hurt her again. I am Remington Tate—Riptide—and I am HER MAN, HER PROTECTOR, and I am going to take care of this RIGHT. NOW.

Blood boiling, I’m touching the back of her head, and I look at her face, her glazed eyes and the tears on her skin, and I’ve never been more ready to commit murder, but I manage to speak softly when I tell her, “I need to do something right now. I love you. I fucking love you to pieces, and I’m going to come back and put you back together again, all right?”

She nods and trembles, and my gut is being cut on the inside, because I don’t want to leave her either, goddammit.

“Why is she shaking like this, goddammit?” I ask Pete as I carry her back to the room.

He looks at me apologetically. “It’s the nervous system being affected. She sustained several stings, so it’ll be painful. While the EMT is on his way, let’s give her some Tylenol.”

Tylenol, yes. Tylenol and murder. My body is so wired and I’m single-minded. I feel like a robot who’s just been programmed to kill, and the fact that he hurt my little firecracker was the trigger button.

Heart pounding, muscles tightening, system overworking, I carry her back to the room and set her on the sofa, inhaling the top of her head. Every minute that motherfucker enjoys life while Brooke has trouble breathing is penance. Every fucking bite I see on her skin screams at me to go hurt whoever hurt her.

That’s right. I’m Death. I am fucking Death and I’m coming for him now.

“I’m going to go crush him now,” I tell her. With all the love I feel for her, I’m doing it.

I’m charging off to the elevator and hear Pete yell after me. “Damn it, he’s full speed ahead, Ri, go after him before he sees Scorpion or any of his goons— Diane! Get some cold compresses and wait for the EMT. We need to go get that man!”

Ha. They’re not fucking stopping me. I head for the stairs so they won’t find me in the elevator and run down several flights.

When I shove open the exit door into the lobby, I see them immediately. He’s right there. Scorpion. Two goons. He’s looking at me. I look at him and curl my fists. “You’re dead, asshole.”

He grins. “Your crowd is waiting,” he says.

The elevators to my right ping.

Riley steps off, and he sees me.

“Rem,” he says cautiously, holding the elevator door open as he spots Scorpion and his crew. “Rem, I can’t let you do this.”

“Don’t make me break you, brother,” I warn him, and that’s when I feel a prick behind me.

The darkness pulls me, but I’m not going down. I’m not going to go down until Scorpion bleeds to death and Brooke is safe in my arms.

“Dude, you weigh a fucking ton!” Riley adjusts me as he and Pete start trying to get me up the stairs. “Good job, Pete, those assholes didn’t even see you behind him.”

“Fuck you,” I growl.

God, fuck me. Fuck Pete. Fuck Riley. Fuck Scorpion I’m going to kill that motherfucker on the ring! I hope it’s a submission fight and he’s so fucking proud he won’t submit and I’ll just BREAK. HIS. FINGERS. THEN HIS ELBOWS. HIS FIBULA. TIBIA. HIS SKULL. THEN HIS NECK.

The guys are panting, floor by floor, and they both keep telling me to hang on while I keep telling them to take me to Brooke.

“Hang on, buddy,” Pete says breathlessly as he helps Riley bring me back to the room.

“Need to see Brooke,” I insist.

They get me on the bed and I hear Pete telling Riley to “Get the other side” and ask me what the hell he’s going to do with me.

“Brooke,” I angrily tell them.

“She’s coming, dude!” Pete says, laughing at my stubbornness.

They prop a pillow up behind me and I see her. Diane is helping her to bed, and I look worriedly at her.

My girl. God my girl hurt because of me.

“Okay?” I rasp out.

She smiles softly at me as she eases into bed and pulls the cover over us both, sliding her fingers into my hair.

“More than okay,” she says, her eyes bright with love and understanding. All the tension in my body leaves me when she speaks to me. I was fighting not to succumb to the sedative, but her voice makes me unwind, and I succumb to her.

* * *

BROOKE HASN’T RECOVERED from the stings, and I’m still black as fucking midnight.

She’s been sleeping too much, and she spent the flight to Las Vegas sequestered in the toilet. The word pregnant has been popping out of Diane’s mouth.

Pregnant.

Eight letters, one word that makes my chest swell, my cock hard.

“I’m not pregnant!” Brooke’s been telling me.

She keeps denying it, but I swear to god I can almost smell it on her. I smell it on her and it makes me even harder.

While she takes a home pregnancy test, I’ve run around a worn path on the hotel carpet, but the urge to fuck is still acute. Now I’m shadow boxing between the bed and the seating area, trying to get rid of all this extra energy and pull the blood out of my cock. Pump, swing, pump. Holy shit, she could be pregnant. My balls draw tight at the thought and my cock jerks again. God, I hope she’s pregnant. Now. I fucking pray she’s pregnant. Sensing her all of a sudden, I turn around, and she’s watching me with a lost, thoughtful look in her eyes.

“You check yet?” I ask impatiently.

She jerks at my voice and looks at me, looking thoughtful and delectable. Once again, my cock goes up.

“Brooke?”

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek and frowns, her expression uncertain.

“Did you or did you not pee on a stick, baby?” I prod.

“I did! I told you I did!” She goes back into the bathroom and comes out with a white stick. She looks at it, and I’m so restless, and so primed to mate, I continue pumping the air.

I swear if she’s not pregnant, we’ll remedy that soon. I’ll keep fucking and taking and claiming her until she is. I want to be the father of her children. I want her to be mine. Every breath, every sigh, every moan of hers, mine mine mine. Her body mine, to have my children, to have me inside her. Mine to protect, to pet, to kiss, every inch mine to run my tongue over.

Feeling hot and hungry for her, I watch as she studies the test result, and I want it so bad, I’m running out of patience. “What’s it say?” I demand.

“It says . . .” She stares down at the stick, then she sets it aside, and starts walking over to me, and she looks fucking adorable, and womanly, and vulnerable.

“Remington, don’t forget this,” she whispers, framing my face in her hands and looking into my eyes. “You’re black right now, and I don’t want you to forget what I’m going to tell you. I need all of you here with me.”

“Hey.” I frame back her face in mine, looking deeply into her eyes. “I got you.”

“God, please do.”

“Yeah, I do. I got you. Now what’s wrong here? Hmm? If you aren’t, then we figure out what’s wrong with you. If you are . . .”

She runs over to get the test, then she returns and extends it out. “Two lines means, supposedly, that I am.”

My eyes remain on hers for a moment. Does she want to be? Fuck, she better want to be. She better be.

I stare at the screen at the end of the stick and immediately see the double lines.

I frown because I need to be sure, but already, my insides are buzzing with pride.

I still see two lines.

More buzzing in my body, buzzing in my skin. I think I just grew ten sizes wide and high.

I lift my gaze to her, and she looks uncertain, as if she doesn’t know whether to be worried or happy. “Come here.” Unable to hold back my smile, I pick her up and lift her into the air, smacking a kiss on her abs, then I toss her down on the bed. She squeals and bursts out laughing as I fall on her.

“You’re a crazy man! You’re the only man I know who throws his pregnant girlfriend onto a bed!” she cries.

“I’m the only man,” I correct her, “as far as I know. There’s only one man in your world, and it’s me.”

“All right, but don’t tell my dad I agreed so easily . . .” she whispers, rubbing my shoulders, gold eyes shining on me. I want this baby to have those eyes. That perfect smile.

“Brooke Dumas pregnant with my baby,” I tell her. In case she didn’t see the fucking test, now she fucking knows she’s pregnant by me.

She grins happily, and that pure little grin feels like a kiss all along my pulsing cock. “My head is reeling. Kiss me.”