I pause in front of the bodyguard. I glance at Greyson. “He has my phone.” Grey’s expression darkens. The guy lifts his hand to his breast pocket, retrieving my phone and holding it out to me. As soon as it’s in my grip, I take a step back. Grey has other ideas. He lunges at him and snaps his fist forward. His knuckles smash into the guy’s face, skating across his cheekbone and nose. The guard stumbles backward, covering his face, but Greyson follows him. He fists the front of his shirt and shoves him into the wall. “Don’t you ever fucking lay a hand on her,” he says in the bodyguard’s face.
