Liam didn't even spare Bernice a glance. "I don't want to talk to you. Move." His voice dropped an octave, a clear warning.
But Bernice? She was too dense to take the hint. She stepped right into his face, her perfume too strong, her delusions even stronger.
"Why? Can't handle the truth about that nasty little b*tch Joanne?" she sneered.
Liam's fingers flexed into fists. Then, unclenched. Then, clenched again.
If a man had said that to his face, they'd be picking their teeth off the floor.
But unfortunately for him, this wasn't a man. It was a rabid chihuahua in designer heels.
So, instead of knocking her into next week, he simply shoved her aside and strode toward the captain. He had business.
Business with his brother.
Too bad the captain knew exactly what Liam wanted and shut that down real fast. No visits. No "private chats." Tom was officially booked, and the case was filed. The captain showed the proof.
