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The man in denim grins. “If you’re saying what I think you are, we’d have to get a paper bag first.”
I try to give Miles another look, silently communicating I can handle this, but Miles is already on his feet. His chair screeches against the floor, causing the two men to turn to him. They’re even drunker than I thought, their eyes widening as they take in Miles’ size and the hate blazing in his eyes. He glares at them, stepping around the table and putting his giant body between them and me.
Confused emotion grips me. There’s a primal thrill when I see the taut muscles pressing through Miles’ shirt and his fierce desire to defend me. I also need to learn what the hell these men meant. More than friends, they said. Was Dad his dealer?
“You’re both going to apologize,” Miles snarls.
“We are?” Leatherjacket says, all cocky.
The man in denim must be more sober. He looks at his friend, shaking his head slowly. “Josh, relax, man.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Josh says, shouldering his leather jacket. The gesture is as sharp as his features like he’s ready for a fight.
“I’m her uncle,” Miles snaps, “and there’s no damn way I’m going to let you insult my niece and get away with it.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Miles
The man in the leather, Josh, is almost my height. The other is shorter and stockier, with a more muscular frame, but they will be facedown on the floor and bleeding in agony if they don’t make this right.
I tried to respect Layla’s wishes. She was shooting me looks, essentially begging for me to remain seated. It’s the only reason I didn’t dismantle these bastards the second they laughed cruelly at my woman.
Josh waves a hand. “Relax, man. We were only messing around. What were we supposed to do? We’re never allowed to say hello at the restaurant.”
“Why do you have to say hello at all?” I growl, stepping forward.
The man in denim flinches. He knows something terrible could happen to them if they don’t fix this. The other one is slower on the uptake.
“All right, relax. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You insulted my woman,” I cut in, stepping even closer, my voice dead and emotionless. I don’t mean to, but it’s there, the pulsing deep within. I’m preparing for a fight.
“Nobody gets to do that,” I say, as Josh finally gets the point.
He begins to wilt under my glare, actually hunching over, shrinking as I tighten my fists so hard my fingers jab into my palms. Every inch of my body drips with the need to protect.
“Fuckingnobody,” I roar, and suddenly the conversations stop, and people turn to look at us. I’ve got to be careful and remember my little brother, but I can’t.
“She belongs to me. She’s mine. That woman you think it’s okay to make fun of, you little goddamnworms, is going to be my wife one day. She’s going to have my children. Do you think insulting her is an intelligent thing to do?”
“N-no,” Josh says after a long pause, “but—”
“Shut up, man,” the man in denim snaps.
“But,” Josh says, “didn’t you say you were her uncle?”
I swallow, not sure how to respond.
From behind me, Layla says, “You’re both drunk. You must’ve misheard.”
They don’t buy it, but I don’t give a damn. Another step forward has them moving back like they’re debating running.
“Apologize and leave. Now.”
“I’m sorry,” Josh says. “Seriously. Jesus. I don’t want any trouble.”
“I’m sorry too,” the man in denim says, taking Josh’s arm. “We both are, okay? Let’s get out of here.”
