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“My little brother doesn’t need to hear that stuff.”
Logan makes a mistake…he aims his sneer at Lauren. “Listen, honey, if I wanted advice from the town pig, I’d….”
When I dart my hand out, he lets out a yelp, but the security guards are good at their jobs. They must’ve been watching me for any sign of movement.
The tatted one bats my hand away, shoving me in the chest.
I gasp as the air is sucked out of my lungs, the strike going right to my center. My chest aches and my stomach is torn.
But I can’t get Logan’s words out of my head.
He called my woman apig.
“You never get to speak to her like that,” I roar, pushing past the pain in my chest. “You don’t talk tomy womanlike that. You’re lucky I don’t tear your head off.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Logan yells.
I’m barely aware of what I’m saying, knowing on one level I should stop. But it’s like all my protective missiles are firing at the same time, obliterating my common sense.
My tattoo stings in time with my pounding war-drum heartbeat.
“You don’t say it,” I growl. “Ever.”
Logan’s sneer is so entitled and arrogant as he peers around his security guard. “It’s not my fault if she’s acting like a fuckingpig.”
Red rage floods my vision.
The tatted security guard anticipates it and comes in with a full right hook. That’s how I know these aren’t regular security guys.
He throws it viciously, with no thought of restraining me, probably thinking he’ll put me down and then get his annoying client out of here.
I raise my hand, take the punch on my forearm, then duck back as he chucks a jab at me.
He throws a straight right, his knuckle clipping my nose, then I duck – feint. He thinks I’m going the other way.
And then my fist catches him under the chin. He grunts as he stumbles backward, but I can’t think, not as people yell around me, not as Logan keeps calling her that awful name.
The second security guard is on me, the one with the busted nose. He knows how to fight, raising his leg in a sniping front kick.
I bite down as his foot catches me in the stomach, and then I push on, raising my hands as he rains punches against my aching forearms. I weather them all, Logan still with his voice raised, whiny like a bully whose only impulse is to hurt.
My only impulse is to protect, always.
This bastard’s making a mistake.
I grab the guard and turn, throwing him at the tatted one, who’s just rising to his feet.
They collide, and then I spin back, charging Logan.
My shoulder crushes into the security guard as he’s going for his pocket, for a Taser or a gun, I don’t know. I can’t think.
My hands are on Logan, buried into his shirt as I lift him off his feet and shove him up against the wall.
I can hear people yelling, but not the words.
I know that time has slowed. It’s only been a few seconds since the fight started.
“Apologize,” I roar in Logan’s cocky face.
