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Chapter Two
Ashwood swiveled his scowl back her way, a beefy hand poised to give her a taste of his knuckles.
She narrowed her eyes.
God, don’t let Riley walk in now.He’d end up killing his father.
She braced for impact and dared him with a glare to go through with it. It would hurt, but like hell would she back down. Not anymore. Not ever. She refused to be a scared little mouse afraid of everyone and everything.
Still fear locked her knees but he didn’t have to know that. Raising her chin high, she prepared for the worst for standing up to someone three times her size.
She blinked and Damon had his fists buried in the other man’s plaid button-down before the other man’s hand could come anywhere near his target. The guttural roar Damon let loose rattled bottles and carried an ungodly threat as if hell was fast on his heels.
“Touch her and I’ll do Riley the favor of killing you where you stand. Back the fuck off, and remember my roof, my protection. Harm one hair on her head and you’ll be the one responsible for reviving the old feud between our families. After I get through with you, given I don’t kill you, you’ll have my brother to deal with and your son for daring to touch their woman.” Acid dripped from Damon’s words as he pinned the heaving man to the bar, nose to nose.
“Don’t push your fucking luck,” Damon continued. The quieter the voice, the deadlier the man. She’d learned that the hard way. Damon barely lifted his voice a single decibel.
Zahara looked between the two of them. He was throwing out a lot of assumptions about her relationship with Riley that only riled the older man more. Damn him. Now Ashwood would take his hatred out on Riley while she was back in Houston some two thousand miles away.
Zahara took a deep breath and let it out on a count of five. This posturing crap took the last drop of patience she had on tap. She reached out and placed a hand on Damon’s arm as she shouldered her way in. Both straightened.
Zahara had learned early on that if you wanted to be heard in a group of rowdy mountain men, asking nicely never worked. Breaking up bar fights and taught her that much.
“Peace and civility don’t mean shit to me, boy,” Ashwood retorted with the same vicious intent. Chest to chest, the older man didn’t waste any time slashing out at her again. “And did you call this girl family? Like hell, she’ll be one of mine! Unless you’re not telling me something. You in on the games too? Like sharing the new piece of ass in town?”
She looked between them. What? Zahara felt her jaw drop a couple of inches.
“You tasting the little Southern belle too?” Pure disgust spilled out of Ashwood’s mouth, his nose damn near touching Damon’s. Neither backing off.
Was he for real? Is that what he really thought of her? So much hatred because he couldn’t understand what she shared with his son and Holden?
Enough. They wanted to shout? Fine. She knew how to throw down as much as the next person.
She took a sharp breath. “I said,” she raised her voice above everyone, which wasn’t hard since the whole place had their attention locked on her, mouths sealed. “What. The fuck. Happened to Riley?” She shot out each word on a crack of anger. Both men backed off and turned to her.
“Turn on the TV and see for yourself. It’s all over the afternoon news.”
Zahara shoved the wooden bar stools to the side and bolted over the bar. Channel five blared to life before Ashwood finished.
“We’re coming to you from Base Two north of Esme’s Point where the two lost teenagers were found earlier today by the daring rescue team.” The reporter’s raised voice filled the silence and had the patrons migrating closer.
Savage Ridge had only one search and rescue team. Riley and Holden now that Damon had retired from his short stint with them after leaving the police force. Zahara clung to every syllable the reporter uttered from five hundred feet above Base One. Only pro climbers went past Base One and Esme’s Point. What the hell were those kids thinking especially this late in the season?
The cameraman panned to the side and zeroed in on the mountain face to catch rocks tumble from the steep side. The ground shifted beneath one climber’s boots as he scooted across a hair-thin ledge to reach Riley who hung suspended from a thick rope connected to the chopper.
A wash of cold chills spilled over her.
Oh, God.
Drake, the oldest Savage brother, fought against sharp winds to hold the bird steady.
The cameraman zoomed in on the Savage Excursions emblem across the side of Fat Old Betty and then panned to the man dangling twenty feet below the chopper, and that was when she forgot to breathe.
Seeing it, she couldn’t peel her eyes away. Holden, covered in a deep blue jumpsuit to prevent abrasions from debris or scared climbers, also hung from a rope several feet above Riley.
Her heart no longer resided in her chest. It hit the floor, where it stayed, and she didn’t know if the ice in her veins was something to worry about at the moment.
Both Holden and Riley were good at their jobs.Breathe.
