Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 408

The salty wind whipped through the air, and somewhere a band played wild, triumphant music.

A chaotic crowd buzzed around the orange sports car, where a woman in a white dress and veil clung to the neck of a man in sunglasses. Mila's heart was still pounding from the adrenaline when his low, teasing voice brushed her ear. For a moment, everything else fell away into silence.

Then fury snapped her back to reality.

Of all times, he chose now to flirt?

Anger and fear warred inside her. Without thinking, Mila tightened her grip around the man's neck, pulled herself up, and slammed her forehead into his.

Bastard!

Lysander didn't even flinch. He leaned into her headbutt, laughter rumbling in his chest.

"My dear wife."

"Oh, come on! Could you save the heroics for later and just drive?" A tense male voice burst from the driver's seat.

Mila looked up and finally noticed the red-haired man at the wheel, spinning the car as he grinned back at her.

"Hey, gorgeous, I'm Francis-"

Smack!

Lysander reached over and whacked Francis on the back of the head. "Drive. We need to get off this island. Now."

"You'd drop dead for a pretty face, you hopeless dog!" Francis shot back, but he knew time was running out. This was Cossio's territory; if they lingered, they'd be in real trouble. Without another word, he grabbed the megaphone and shouted out the window:

"Everyone, let's move!"

chorus erupted from the convoy of luxury cars, and the drummers perched atop the vehicles hammered out a thunderous rhythm. The car formation curved, not to escape just yet, but to

the

into Lysander's arms, the wind lashing

all in

carpet of black roses, Cossio stood out-rigid, his green eyes locked onto her. His face, icy moments ago, was strangely composed now, his gaze

shivered. It was as if something cold and ancient had reached inside her,

her waist, shielding

"Don't look at him."

her lips together and

Lysander lifted his head and met Cossio's stare across the crowd-his fox-sharp eyes meeting the other man's emerald gaze, neither of them backing

After a long beat,

and his blood-red lips curled in a faint, taunting smile. Then, mouthing the words in

"You lost again, boy."

Lysander's eyes narrowed.

thunderous crash sounded behind them. A black motorcycle smashed through the convoy, tearing open a gap, and

"Francis!" Lysander barked.

"On it, on it!"

relentless. One rider on the

clear: take them alive. Nothing

CRASH!

through the air, but in a flash, a muscled arm shot out from beside Mila. Lysander, still holding her with one arm, swung a baseball bat with the other, knocking

was like a

so many sides of this man-calm, refined, angry, confident, always in control. But never like this: brutal, overpowering, a force of nature that