“Yeah, give us a chance.” Another places a hand on my shoulder.
“You got pretty legs.” Yet another eyes me up like a piece of sugary candy. I smack each advance away, panic clawing at my throat like a terrified cat up a tree.
“Get away from me,” I hiss.
My order falls on deaf ears though. I’m no one to men like these. Ruthless, fearless, savage. I’m a new, shiny toy, and it’s clear they want to play.
I become claustrophobic as the circle tightens around me and hands touch me from every direction. Just before I scream in terror, a deep voice bellows,“Enough.”
I jump sky high as the men scatter around me.
Holy fuck.
I take one more panicked step back and hit the wall. There’s nowhere left to go. I wipe my watery eyes and try to calm my hammering heart as the apparition stares me down. He appeared literally out of thin air. I stare back, straight into his arresting blue eyes. They’re on fire, burning with indignation. I’ve only heard stories of the infamous Ky Parish. Tales of a man who was fearless, loyal, and a tad bit reckless. A man who survived the travesties of war as a Marine and emerged a hero. I don’t know how biased these stories are since the man telling them was Ky’s father, but they all sounded sincere. Gerard Parish, my stepfather, is incredibly proud of his son, which is why I’m here. Everything I’ve been told about the man led me to believe he’s someone I could turn to, possibly even trust. But the person standing before me is a stark contrast to the image I had in my head. He looks . . .pissed. No humanity in his eyes, just hatred. Hatred directed right at me. I don’t understand where the feeling stems from. I’ve never met him before. He has no reason to dislike me.Does he?
“You know who I am?” I ask meekly. I wanted to have this conversation in private, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
“I believe I do.” His voice is low, raspy. Sort of sexy. I shouldn’t even be thinking that. But I can’t help it. The only time I’ve ever seen Ky was in his boot camp graduation picture Gerard keeps in his wallet. And that person — the cute boy with immense life twinkling in his eyes and a suppressed smirk that concealed trouble — and the one standing in front of me are starkly different. The person in front of me is stormy, hard, and intimidating. Hot as fuck, and definitely not a boy, but a man. A man who’s seen a lot of this world and wears his scars predominantly on his face. Namely across his left eye where a long, angry slash stands out.
“What the fuck are you doing in my bar?” Ky cuts right to the quick.
“I needed to speak to you.” I try to keep my voice even.
“About what?” He crosses his arms and glares. “My dad?”
“No.” I notice all the attention this conversation is garnishing. “Is there somewhere private we can go and talk?”
Ky’s lips twist up sinisterly, and I shiver. “Sure, out-fucking-side. You can wait . . . forever.” He all but kicks me out of the bar. “Beat it. I’m not interested in anything my deserter father or one of his princess pussies has to say.”
I jerk my head back from the blatant insult. I knew Ky Parish was rough around the edges. I didn’t know he was a complete and total dickhead.
“I need your help,” I whisper, pleading.
“I don’t give a crap what you or your family needs.” His tone rumbles with animosity. “Now — Get. The. Fuck. Out.” He punches every word.
I feel my eyes round and my lip pout. This was not what I was expecting. I don’t really know what I was expecting when I came face to face with Ky Parish, but a repeated backhand of insults was definitely not it. I know Ky and Gerard are not on the best terms, but I didn’t realize it was this bad, or that he had such ill will toward my mother and me.
I stand up straight, the wall helping me stay horizontal. “You know, I’ve heard Gerard call you a lot of things. Fucking jerk-off was never one of them.” I sidestep to the right, and I’m out the front door. Dashing to my little red BMW parked on the gravel lot, I try to slam the driver’s side door as fast I can, but my arm is nearly ripped out of its socket as it hitches on something. I look up to find a dark figure blocking out the sun, holding my car door hostage.
Fuck. I pissed him off. Not the objective for today’s visit.
“What exactly has my father told you about me?” he demands.
“Why do you care? I believe your exact words just were, and I quote, ‘I don’t give a crap about you or your family,’”
I spit.
“You’re mistaken. What I said is, ‘I don’t give a crap about what you or your family needs,’” he corrects. “If you’re going to quote someone, at least make it accurate.”
I bristle. Is he being serious right now?
“Can I go, please?” I yank on the door handle. “This was a huge fucking mistake. I see that now.”
The door doesn’t budge though. He clearly isn’t letting me leave that easily.
“Not until you tell me exactly why you’re here. Is my dad okay?”
“He’s fine.” I fight against his stronghold on the door. I just want to go. Disappear and forget I was ever here. I’d like Ky Parish to do exactly the same. “He’s in Paris with my mother.”
