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Pearce has his back to me, his suit jacket pulled taut between his shoulders, his hands ready at his sides. The bald man shifts back and forth, slashing with the knife.
“I don’t remember your brother,” Pearce says.
“He remembered you,” the man snaps. “Right up until the end. You pig fuck. I’m going to gut you real good.”
“You were at my house,” Pearce snarls.
“Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn’t.”
“You said you knew what I did. On the brick. Is that it, your brother? What did I arrest him for?”
“He had a hard childhood. We both did. We learned to steal. We learned to hustle, to make money.”
“So he was dealing drugs?” Pearce snaps. “That’s what that usually means.”
The man looks around, visibly shaking. For the first time I notice how afraid he seems, his eyes watery, his movements jittery.
He snaps his gaze to me. “Don’t look at me, you fucking idiot. You shouldn’t be with this man. If you knew what he did, who he put away and you knew how he died, how Patty died? Stabbed to death by five other inmates. Just like I’m going to stab you, officer. Let’s go.”
“Patty,” I say, trying to process the name. “Patrick? Do you mean… are you talking about…”
“Ask your mother,” the man snarls. “She’s the one who’s letting you whore around with this old fuck—”
Before he can finish, Pearce surges forward moving like a practiced martial artist. The man takes a clumsy swing but then Pearce grabs him by the wrist and twists it up and behind his back, the knife clattering to the floor.
The man yelps as Pearce forces him to his knees.
“Apologize,” Pearce snarls. “For talking to my woman like that. For disrespecting her. Now.”
Pearce roars the last word, adding more pressure to the man’s wrist. He cries out and screams that he’s sorry, the word lost in the tangled mess of his cries.
“Nobody gets to insult her, ever,” he growls. “Ever.”
Pearce locks eyes on me, looking wild.
Bones is barking, I realize slowly as if the sound is coming from far away.
I lean down and take him into my arms, struggling as he bucks around. It’s like he wants to leap at the man and help Pearce, but Pearce doesn’t need any help. He’s got the man in a secure hold.
Pearce looks like he’s about to erupt from the inside, his body far tenser than I’ve seen him yet, as though he’s ready to rip this man’s arm off.
“I’m sorry,” the man whines. “Jesus—fuck—Christ… I’m sorry.”
Pearce looks at me, a question in the volcanic fury of his eyes. He’s giving me the choice. With a nod, I could order my primal protector to tear this man to pieces.
I shake my head softly. I don’t want to hurt anybody.
Plus, I can’t stand the idea of Pearce ending up in jail.
Pearce relaxes his hold slightly, allowing the man to rise to his feet, but he keeps his hand on his wrist.
The man stares down at me.
“You were so small the last time I saw you,” he says.
“Who are you? Why are you talking about my mom?”
He grins in a tight, off-putting way. Bones rumbles from my lap. Even the little guy can tell the man’s mocking me with his flinty eyes.
“Your mom never told you much about your old man, did she? About my brother?”
“You’re my uncle,” I murmur, struggling to believe it. “I don’t understand… Why attack me? Why attack Pearce? If we’re family—”
“I’m not your family,” the man snaps. “That ended a long time ago. That ended when Patty was killed in prison.”
If it wasn’t for Bones, I’d jump to my feet and stalk over to the man. My legs are shaking, willing me to get up, but Bones’ trembling body keeps me in place. If I jump, he’s going to follow, and then Pearce could lose his grip on my uncle and the stranger could do something terrible to my dog, to us.
My dog.
That’s how I think of Bones, even if he technically belongs to Pearce. I consider him both our responsibilities.
“You’re not making any sense,” I say.
The man shrugs, looking over his shoulder. “Are we going to do this all night?”
“Don’t do anything stupid when I let you go,” Pearce warns. “And if you say another bad word about my woman, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”
The man laughs, opening his mouth to make a comment.
But his words are lost in a cry as Pearce exerts more pressure, twisting his wrist up behind his back.
“Okay, okay,” the man gasps. “I get it. I understand.”
“Good.”
Pearce steps back, deftly leaning down to scoop up the knife. “You won’t mind if I keep this.”
The man stares at him for a second, takes one last look at me, and then walks quickly out of the restaurant. I stare at his bald head, at the tattoos creeping up his neck.
