Page 40

Send me a picture of her.

I stare at the message for a moment, then at where Kayla laughs at something the other bartender said, her head tipped back, throat exposed. I want to bite her . . . I shake off that thought before my cock gets hard in the middle of a bar like some horny teenager. Snapping a picture before I can think about whether I should drag her out of here, I send it to Vero and type underneath it.

Clay

She’s okay.

His response takes a few minutes.

Vero

I know. I just needed to see it.

Putting my phone face down on the bar, I pick up my drink and watch the door, trying not to think about the fact that I took the picture faster than I should have or that I have looked at it twice since I sent it.

The bar fills up over the next few hours. Rogue has stopped giving me the stink eye, and she slides a nonalcoholic drink my way every time my glass gets empty. I don’t dwell on why I am actually here because I wouldn’t have a legitimate answer, and I would lie to myself if I even tried.

It gets increasingly harder to ignore the drunks who get louder with each drink, vying for Kayla’s attention with messy attempts at flirtation. She politely serves them but doesn’t linger. Even though she returns their smiles, I have figured out it’s just her work persona. The way she smiles at Vero lights up her entire face, but she never does that here unless Rogue or the male bartender are around.

As I pick up my drink and ponder the reason, she gets further under my skin. I didn’t want to think about it, but it is hard not to when I never let people in. Sure, I have my sisters and certain people on the island, but that is the complete list. It works just fine for me and has for a long time. I do not need to add anyone else, especially not a tattooed bartender who is not afraid to headbutt, talks back every chance she gets, and looks at me like she knows exactly who I am and really doesn’t give a fuck.

I’m almost ready to leave when I notice a guy sitting three stools down. He has been there for maybe half an hour and is watching Kayla with more than just casual interest. This guy gives me the creeps, and that is really saying a lot considering the company I keep. His eyes track her, and he hasn’t touched his second drink. He keeps his body angled toward the staff end of the bar and keeps glancing furtively toward the door marked private near the back wall.

I have seen enough predatory behavior to know exactly what this is and where it is going, so I watch him closely. When he gets up to leave without finishing his drink, slipping some cash down onto the bar, I follow him outside.

He turns left and heads down the sidewalk, and I leave enough distance between us so he doesn’t notice me as I keep to the edge of the building. Then he rounds the corner into a narrow alley that runs along the side of the bar, and sure enough, he stops at the staff exit door. He reaches out and pulls to test it, but finds it locked.

I approach silently behind him and take him by the back of the collar, using my hold to slam him face-first into the brick wall beside the door. Then, with my forearm, I press across the back of his shoulders.

“Hands where I can see them,” I say close to his ear, though of course he tries to fight. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“What the fuck? I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were about to,” I say. “And I need you to understand something before you make a decision you can’t come back from.” I lean in menacingly so that he truly understands what fear feels like. “The woman about to come out that door, you are going to forget her name, her face, and that this bar even exists. You are going to walk out of this alley and never come back.” I pause and let that sit with him for a second. “If you come back, if I ever see you anywhere near her, I will find out everything there is to know about you, like where you live and who your family is, and I will target every single one. I will hurt everyone you love. You will know exactly why it is happening, and you will know you are last on my list. And the best part is that no one will ever be able to trace it back to me. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

He says nothing, so I press his face a little further into the brick. “I need to hear you say that you understand me.”

“I understand,” he grits out.

“Good.” I release him, but when he tries to move, I grab him by the back of his collar again and introduce his face to the bricks one last time. The crack of his nose is a sweet sound, and when I let him go, he staggers forward, one hand flying to his face. I step backward and look at him bent over in the alley, feeling nothing. “That’s so you don’t forget our conversation.”

I watch as he hurries away, never looking back. Then I go back around to the front of the building, cross the street, and lean against the side of my truck with my arms folded. And I wait.

It takes another twenty minutes before she exits the alley, but she stops the second she spots me. She stands there for a moment and then walks toward me.

“You’re still here?” she asks as she reaches the curb.

“You’re observant tonight.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I saw you following someone outside.”

“I did.”

She glares at me. “I had him handled. Men like that always come into the bar—it’s part of the job.”

“So why didn’t you notify security? It’s their job to handle creeps.”

She rubs her chin with her fingers as if she is thinking it over. “Well, I should have made them remove you then.”