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“Which part?” Mickey takes another swig, finishing off the beer.
“All of it,” Leo says.
“And what makes you think I’d hand over my life’s work to a wannabe poet?” Mickey asks.
“We’ll kill her if you don’t,” Leo gestures with his head towards me.
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Where Mickey managed to hold the composure of a self-entitled badass before, it’s gone in a flash. He launches out of his chair, both hands gripping the table’s edge, and with one powerful thrust, it flies across the room.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He grabs Leo by the lapel and pulls him to his feet. Mickey’s menacing sneer is less than an inch from a quivering Leo’s face.
Leo’s men reach for their guns, but pistol shots ring out before they can clear their holsters. From the short hallway to the bathrooms, the two men I saw Mickey with the first night he came to the bar are sprinting towards us. They’re speaking but, in the chaos, I can’t make out a word they’re saying.
No one’s dead; at least, I don’t think so. They’ve been hit, but they’re squirming.
I drop out of my chair and cradle my knees to my chest. There’s no way I’m going to get involved. I’d only cause more harm than good with Mickey this furious.
“What did you think would happen here, Leo? I would pull on my dancing shoes and bust a boogie like some trained chimp?” Mickey delivers a vengeful fist into Leo’s gut.
Leo winces and collapses but Mickey keeps him standing on wobbly legs. He grabs his belly and gasps for air, but he doesn’t have much time before another thunderous strike connects his jaw. Leo crumbles to the ground, gasping for air.
One of Mickey’s men surveys the downed Italians. The other keeps his gun pinned on the shorter, stockier guy who tried jumping me with Leo. He’s holding his hands in the air, afraid of the fate that might befall him.
Mickey kneels beside the fallen Italian and grabs a handful of his hair.
“You tell your feeble fuck father if he wants what’s mine, he better not send a child to do a man’s job. Organize a meeting for the big boys, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.”
He flings Leo’s head back to the ground and comes to me. I don’t budge from my fetal position.
“Are you okay, Brianna?” His voice soothes me if only a little.
I don’t respond. I can’t. My head is ringing from the gunshots that sounded off, and the noise drowns out all thought. My terror doesn’t help.
Mickey tucks his hands under my body and lifts me into the air with ease, before carrying me towards the door. One of his men open it wide, and we step into the night. Cold air fills my lungs, but somehow it still feels warm against the chill I felt with the threat of death looming over my head.
This could’ve gone worse, but it worked out thanks to Mickey . . .
My savage protector.
Chapter 12
Mickey
Isaved Brianna, but at what cost? The damage is done, and I hope it isn’t irreparable.
We’re in the backseat of my car, with Johnny at the wheel. Brianna’s lying with her head on my lap. She hasn’t moved since we left the Moonshine Saloon. If she weren’t warm to my touch, I might’ve thought a stray bullet struck her somewhere amidst the battle.
“What the fuck was that?” Victor asks.
I’m glad I had my crew tag along. It was meant to be another night of conversations about dealing with Ricci and silently leering at Brianna. Watching her sexy ass move around the bar and work her shift.
I was lucky to see the signs before we got out of my Range Rover. The empty street and no drunks wandering the sidewalk were a dead giveaway, but with my burning lust, I nearly missed it.
It’s a good thing I wandered the service section of the bar with Brianna a few nights ago, too. Otherwise, I’d have been up shit creek without a paddle. Couldn’t very well have Victor and Johnny burst through the front door the same way they managed to get down the hall.
“That was an Italian call to war,” I say.
No point in hiding anything from Brianna. She knows my terrible past and clings to my side, anyway. Maybe hearing that I’m going to rain hell on the cunt’s who did this to her will help settle her nerves.
