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And … Lissy-love?
“Evenin’, Graham.” Beau ambled over, his expression somewhere between weary and unimpressed. “Your boy here took a swing at Mercer,” he said dryly.
Took a swing—
Her gaze slid past Ronan, already searching — finding Dale Mercer at the far end of the bar.
The off-duty deputy sat on a chair, shirt half untucked, lip split, one eye purpling. A napkin was pressed to his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the attitude rolling off him. Brianna and Carson flanked him, boxing him in.
“What the hell did you do?” Felicity snapped.
“Me?” Mercer barked a laugh. “What a joke. He takes a swing at me and I’m the one catching heat?”
“Asshole deserved it,” Ronan muttered.
“He was drunk,” Mercer shot back.
Ronan’s head tipped slightly, his voice rough. “Still took you down.”
The EMT pressed gauze harder to Ronan’s brow. “Hold still.”
Felicity rubbed her temple, a headache already building. “Why did you punch him?”
Ronan just gave her a mulish look.
She glanced around. “Anybody?”
Brianna stepped forward. “According to witnesses, our dear Mercer made a comment about Mr. Murphy” — she checked her notes — “collecting whores as pets.”
Behind them, Mercer let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s right. Blame me.”
Felicity didn’t turn. “Not now, Mercer.” Her gaze stayed on Brianna. “Continue.”
Brianna cleared her throat. “And that is when Mr. Murphy got off his stool and” — another glance at her notes — “gave the fucker what he deserved. Took him down with one hook.”
Ronan growled. “Damn straight I did.”
Yep, definitely a headache on its way.
Mercer shoved off the chair, squaring up despite the blood on his lip. “Man throws a punch because he can’t handle the truth, then has a good whine — and lo and behold, she comes running like a bitch in heat—”
The EMT swore as Ronan surged off the stool, the kit rattling as it tipped.
Felicity caught him by the front of his shirt before he got two steps. “Enough!” she snapped, shoving him back.
“That’s right, Graham. Keep a hold on your lapdog.”
Ronan strained against her grip, breath coming hard, eyes locked on Mercer.
“Not worth it,” she said, low and fierce.
Something in her grip — or her voice — cut through, and the fight drained out of him on a sharp exhale.
Mercer snorted. “Yeah. Figures. Not worth the trouble … Deputy Delilah.”
“Mercer,” Beau warned. “Shut the fuck up.”
“What?” Mercer’s mouth curled into a sly grin,, wincing as it pulled at his split lip. “Guy swings at me because I say what everyone’s thinking. You gonna pretend she ain’t a whore, spreading her—”
