“But your wound . . .”
“It will be fine,” Drake reassured. “I’ve had worse.”
“Fine, but if you collapse on me, I’m leaving you where you fall. See if I don’t.”
“I won’t collapse.” Could he still be called a man if he did? If he did go down, he’d better just bleed out.
She looked as though she very much doubted that, but he didn’t give her the chance to argue. The brawl had fast turned into a bloody uproar, bodies slamming and stumbling in every direction. Drake drew her closer, tucking her beneath his arm, steering her around a pair of men who crashed into their path. One lashed out wildly, his fist cutting through the air perilously close to Violet’s cheek.
A snarl escaped his throat.
Devil take it, he should never have brought her here. He shoved another arse aside with his shoulder, keeping Violet pinned tight to him as he forged ahead. The pain in his side flared, but he refused to slow. Bleeding was a problem for later. Every mud-bred rogue in the room seemed hell-bent on hurling themselves straight into her path.
“Stay close,” he ordered.
She folded her hand in his in answer, her fingers sliding between his.
His jaw locked so hard at the small action a muscle ticked, but he still closed his fingers over hers.
“Mind yourself,” he growled at a man who stumbled too near. The fool took one look at Drake’s face and lurched in the opposite direction.
“I’m fine, Drake.” She gave a short, awkward laugh. “Fists, blood, knives. I must say, you really do know how to show a woman a good time. I suppose this was not in your scope of fun?”
He admired her attempt to lighten the mood. “No, it was not.”
The night welcomed them as they stepped outside, the worst of the spectacle finally behind them. Drake steered them straight to his horse, the heat from her hand a soothing balm against the impatience still burning restless inside him.
“How is it that your horse remains exactly where you leave him without being tethered and not wandering off or being stolen?”
“I’m Drake.”
She snorted. “Forget I asked.”
Drake chuckled, gave her hand a squeeze and let go. He braced himself, keeping his hand clamped hard on his wound, and bent to hook his free arm beneath her knees, lifting her up onto the horse. Pain flared sharp and hot at the effort, but he swallowed it down.
“Be careful!” she exclaimed.
“I’m fine,” Drake bit out, dragging in a deep breath before hauling himself up behind her. A grunt escaped him as he settled into place.
“Next time, I won’t get on your horse unless you bother with a saddle.”
“Next time?” He bent toward her ear. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t,” she muttered. “It was simply a figure of speech.”
“A pity.”
“Are you taking me back to my shop?” She glanced back at him. “I can help you stitch the wound.”
“The tavern.” They had all the necessary provisions there. Plus, while it was good to keep his adversaries well within sight, it was also best to keep unpredictable variables, like her, attached to his hip. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.
“Uh, Drake?”
“Hmm?” He reached for the reins, cursing the rodent that put him in this position. “Scared I’ll lock you away, little flame?”
“No, but...” She pointed to the end of the street ahead of them. “Please tell me those are your men?”
Drake lifted his gaze and instantly broke out in a string of expletives. Bandits filed into the street, the lower half of their faces covered in neckcloths.
