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"It's my home, Stephen. I have family here."
He snorted. "Your trailer trash father? Come on. You know as well as I do that there's no love lost there."
Alexandra jabbed a finger in Stephen's chest. "Don't talk about him like that. He's still my dad."
"You're being ungrateful. After everything I gave you, Alexandra, you walked away from me. You're spitting in my face. I deserve a little gratitude and respect for putting up with you."
Alexandra jutted her chin out.
“You don’t fucking own me, bastard. Now get out. Before I call the cops on your ass.”
Stephen hissed. Then he shoved Alexandra so hard, her back hit the bar counter.
A red haze of fury consumed me. Before I realized what I was doing, I was off my bar stool, storming across the room. I grabbed Stephen by the back of his perfectly starched shirt and hauled him outside.
Chapter Three
"Brewer!"
I hurtled after him, stumbling into the parking lot. My heart pounded against my ribs. I was sure Brewer was going to murder Stephen with his bare hands, judging by the look of pure fury on Brewer's face.
Stephen struggled, clawing at Brewer's hand.
"Get off me, you fucking animal!"
I almost felt bad for him. He wasn't half the man that Brewer was. I couldn't believe that I had actually considered marrying Stephen at one point. His charm, his money, his clothes, his connections…they had blinded me to what a truly despicable man he was. Watching him flail and whine and kick in Brewer's grip, I was struck by how small and insignificant and pitiful Stephen looked.
"You had your chance," Brewer said. "You could have had your drink. You could have walked away. Instead, you chose to stick around and harass the bartender. So now it's time you were taught a lesson."
He dropped Stephen unceremoniously on the pavement. I should have protested. I should have at least tried to pull Brewer off him – this was my problem, after all. Instead, I found myself rooted to the spot, watching Brewer pin Stephen to the ground. And something wicked and wild curled in my belly, a feeding frenzy of hunger as I watched the bulge of Brewer's biceps flex, the width of his back looming over Stephen's lean frame.
"She belongs to me," Stephen hissed. "I can talk to her any way I want to, you fucking idiot."
Brewer said nothing for several long seconds that seemed to stretch for a lifetime. I couldn't see his face but I could see the edge of his jawline, clenched tight. Then he shook his head.
"Too bad for you," he said. "That's the wrong answer, buddy. She's not your goddamn property. And all I’m hearing from your fucking mouth is that you don’t know how to please a woman and keep her happy.”
Brewer pulled back and drove his fist into Stephen's face. Stephen turned his head, coughing blood onto the pavement.
A thrill rocketed up my spine. How many times had I wanted to do the same thing? How many times had I thought about punching Stephen right in his pretty mouth for the way he talked to me and treated me?
But Brewer wasn't stopping.
He slammed his fist into Stephen's face again and again. Two, three, four times.
"Brewer, stop," I called, taking a tentative step forward.
Nothing but raw power emanated from him. It made me falter. Part of me wanted to fling myself into it, drawn like a moth to the flame, heedless of destruction. Another part of me wanted to recoil – Brewer was dangerous in a different way than Stephen had ever been.
Stephen was all smooth edges like the blade of a knife.
Brewer was gritty and rough and wild. Feral.
Now, Stephen was lying limp on the pavement. He didn’t struggle anymore. A surge of panic washed over me at the thought of Brewer going to jail for manslaughter charges, all because of me.
"Brewer!" I screamed.
I rushed forward, making a grab for his arm. When he cocked his fist back again, braced to swing, I could tell I wasn't slowing him down. There was no way in hell I would physically be able to stop him. I flung my arms around his middle, my chin hooked over his shoulder. I shifted my mouth closer, my lips brushing his neck. His skin was burning hot, tinged with the sharp scent of tobacco smoke and sweat, alcohol and something else entirely masculine. I shouldn't be thinking about it…but the desire to drag my tongue along his neck, to taste him, even in this dangerous, adrenaline-hot moment, was nearly overwhelming.
