It’s Jacob—a fucking low-level street punk. Unworthy of breathing the same air as her. He is unworthy of touching what belongs to me. The room around me fades. Voices blur. All I hear is the rush of blood in my ears. My hand tightens around my glass until the ice clicks. Dove? Did you forget who you belong to? Or are you trying to make me remind you?
“C?” Troy’s voice finally reaches me.
I set the drink down. “I feel a primal urge,” I say evenly, “to beat that Jacob fucker into a bloody pulp.”
The lads rise immediately, following, already sensing the storm brewing. My jaw clenches, I exhale my focus all for her. “Aria should know better,” I add, turning to walk to the door.
Aria is mine, and tonight she’s going to remember exactly what that means.
Forty- Nine
“He’s fire, devouring and demanding, impossible to tame. Yet, here I stand, daring the flames to take me.”–Aria Boschett.
My body flinches as something hard presses into my ass. The sickening realization sobers me in an instant. Whatever fury drove me onto this dance floor evaporates. I wrench myself free from his grip on my waist.
“Relax. I’m just trying to have a little fun with you. Don’t fight it,” he slurs hands landing right back where they were. My heart slams against my ribs as I twist again, but he tightens his hold, dragging me closer. His breath, thick with alcohol, grazes my cheek. Every internal alarm I have screams at once. I shift my weight, slipping free, but his fingers clamp around my wrist like a vise.
“Let me go,” I snap, panic slicing through my voice.
He doesn’t. The idiot is still holding on to me.Does this creep realize I’m trying to save his life?
“Don’t be like that. You started this, right?” He chuckles, clueless. Thank goodness a couple stumbles into him from behind. His grip loosens for half a second. It’s all I need. I rip my wrist free and lunge for Tasha, yanking her away from the guy she’s dancing with. Gracie and Saaha see this, leave their dance partners, and close in, forming a tight group. My girl pack all has my back.
“No thanks. I’m not interested,” I shout over the music.
“Like my girl said, she’s not interested,” Tasha backs me up, her stance fierce.
Another man steps forward, beer sloshing over the rim of his cup. “Come on, ladies, let’s buy you something to drink,” he grins. His friend sways beside him.
“Look, y’all, we don’t need your drinks or anything else,” Saaha yells, her Texas twang carrying farther than it should. “Just leave us alone.” Laughter ripples through the surrounding crowd. At that moment, the man I danced with loses his smile. The amusement drains from his eyes, replaced by something meaner. His lip curls.Shit.
His arm jerks back, coiling.
Time slows.
He’s going to hit Saaha.
I step in front of her without thinking. His fist swings toward my face. I raise my arm and brace for impact. It never comes.
“Oi, Jacob,” an Irish accent cuts through the chaos, cold and lethal. “You weren’t about to hit my woman?” The words jolt through me, and I see him.
Cyan stands there with Collin and the others, a wall of men closing in. His hand is holding Jacob’s arm, and even from where I stand, I can see how tight his grip is. Jacob’s drunken bravado evaporates, his eyes widening as reality slams into him, sobriety arriving far too late.
“No, no, Mr. MacBrady, I-I didn’t know she was yours,” Jacob stammers. “Besides, I was aiming for the loudmouth in the plaid shirt. Your girl just stepped in the way.” I’m wrong. Jacob isn’t scared sober; he’s scared stupid. Because that’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said.
Before Cyan can respond, Saaha steps out from behind me and drives her cowgirl boot straight into Jacob’s groin. He buckles instantly, a choked cry tearing from his throat as his knees hit the floor, both hands clutching himself. She follows it up with a vicious knee to his face. Bone crunches and blood sprays from his nostrils. Jacob collapses with a bloody snout, but Saaha isn’t done lifting her boot again, ready to end him.
Troy moves fast. “Whoa, whoa, Doc,” he says, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her back. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”
“Yeah, big guy, I did,” Saaha snaps, struggling against his grip, eyes wild as she tries to get back to Jacob, who’s now moaning on the floor. “Doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself.”
Troy nods once. “Fair. But we’ll take it from here. Just watch.”
Cyan bends down and takes hold of the arm Jacob raised to strike me. He hauls him upright and with one brutal, efficient motion, wrenches the arm one way while twisting Jacob’s body the other.
Something snaps, crackles, and pops. Jacob screams as his entire arm grotesquely reshapes itself; his cries of pain are sharp enough to slice through the music.
“You’re sorely mistaken, Jacob,” Cyan snarls, voice glacial. “If you thought you could raise a hand against my Lass or her friend.” He leans in. “I should kill you.” He lets Jacob crumple.
