Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 62

A powerful arm clamped around her waist like a steel band, pulling her tightly into a protective embrace and shutting out all the chaos and danger swirling around them.

The sharp, familiar scent of cedar—cool and crisp—mingled with a subtle hint of tobacco, swept over her senses in a heady rush.

But something was wrong. There was another note in the air—metallic, unmistakable: blood.

Gwyneth’s heart thundered as she looked up, only to meet a pair of fathomless eyes now blazing with barely restrained fury.

Bennett.

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the car?

One of his hands was clamped around her waist, shielding her completely behind his broad frame, a living bulwark she could never hope to scale.

With his other hand, he’d seized the wrist of the attacker—still gripping a knife.

The blade, glinting coldly under the lights, was buried halfway through the web of skin between Bennett’s thumb and index finger, blood already beginning to seep out.

Where there had been wild desperation in the assailant’s eyes, now there was only terror. He tried to wrench the knife free, but Bennett’s grip was ironclad; the weapon didn’t budge an inch.

“Looking for trouble,” Bennett growled, his words cold and final, slipping between clenched teeth like a sentence handed down by Death himself.

Even before the echo of his voice died away, Bennett released Gwyneth, but his injured left hand stayed locked on the attacker’s wrist like a vise, blood pouring down his arm. His right hand shot out, faster than a striking snake.

There was a sickening crack—the snap of bone, sharp and chilling.

The attacker’s wrist bent at an impossible angle, and he screamed like an animal, collapsing to the ground in a heap, the blood-smeared knife clattering uselessly across the polished floor.

Only then did Bennett slowly loosen his grip, blood gushing from his torn palm in a wild, uncontrolled torrent. Crimson droplets splattered the ground, leaving a broken line in their wake.

“Mr. Boyd!”

The security team, pale-faced and panicked, rushed to Bennett’s side.

“Get a doctor! Now!”

Gwyneth’s voice shook with a tremor she didn’t recognize in herself as she nearly threw herself to Bennett’s side.

She stared at his hand, blood still streaming from the ragged wound, fear and panic crashing over her like an icy tide. Her heart clenched so hard it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

When she looked up at Bennett, her eyes were wide with shock and confusion, and glimmering with a vulnerability she hadn’t even realized was there.

Why were her eyes raining?

Bennett met her gaze, taking in the shimmer of tears, the way her lips had gone pale from fear.

His right hand, still wrapped around her wrist, didn’t let go—instead, it tightened, as if he couldn’t bear to let her slip away.

A strange, almost absurd sense of satisfaction flickered through him, for a moment overwhelming even the ripping pain in his hand.

At that moment, someone pushed through the chaotic crowd, forcing his way inside.

He’d obviously rushed over, expensive suit jacket thrown carelessly open, hair tousled by the wind.

When the news of the attack broke, he didn’t even know what possessed him to come running, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

He told himself it was because if she died, there’d be no one left to help him at work, and the company shares still hadn’t transferred.

But when Julian’s gaze landed on Bennett’s hand—blood-soaked, the wound jagged and gaping—his pupils shrank sharply.

His brother was here?

And he was hurt?

He looked up, just in time to see Gwyneth a few steps away, her whole world narrowed to Bennett, her body shaking with terror and grief.

Julian’s face went rigid, as if someone had punched him straight in the gut. His eyes brimmed with shock—and a raw, stabbing pain at being so completely shut out.

Impossible.

Had Bennett really been hurt protecting Gwyneth?

Did this mean…?