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“She’s twenty,” Kyle stammers in his defense.
“Last time I checked that was still underage, asshole.” Jackson snarls as he grabs Kyle by the throat.
“Jax,” I shout, taking a hold of his forearm and making him turn his anger-filled gaze back to me. “Please don’t do this. These are my friends.”
“Friends do not get you drunk so they can feel you up, Lucia,” he snarls.
A few seconds later, three bouncers are surrounding us too. I swallow hard as I wonder what the hell is going to happen next. Jax could take the lot of them out if he chose to. And then what? More bouncers?
I feel sick as I picture a mass brawl in this club and me never being able to show my face on campus again, but one of the bouncers speaks to Jax.
“Everything okay here, Mr. Decker?” he asks.
“No. She is drunk and she is underage,” he snarls. “Do you even check ID in this place?”
They don’t. Not very well anyway. It’s why this club is so popular with college kids. “We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”
To my relief, Jax releases Kyle from his grip, but not without a warning first. “You ever touch her again and I will cut off your hands. You got me?”
Kyle nods furiously while I sway on the spot.
“I feel sick,” I shout.
Jax turns to me and then he scoops me up into his arms and strides out of the club. If I didn’t feel so woozy, I think I would die of embarrassment. I suppose there is plenty of time for that tomorrow.
As soon as we are out in the fresh air, my head starts to spin. “Jax,” I groan as I cling onto his neck.
“I got you, Luce. I’ll take you home,” he says softly, all the anger gone from his voice now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as he places me in the front seat of his truck and fastens my seatbelt.
When he climbs in and starts the engine, I lean back and close my eyes. “Thank you for not killing Kyle,” I mumble sarcastically.
He grunts in response.
“He was just my friend, Jax. And even if he was more…” I trail off. It’s hard enough being Alejandro Montoya’s daughter without having Jax threatening every guy who takes an interest in me. Not that many do. I think the fact that my father is the head of the Spanish Mafia kind of puts most of them off.
“Guys who like you shouldn’t have to get you drunk to make you like them back, Lucia.”
“He didn’t do that,” I protest.
“No? You said he’s your friend, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You ever let him put his hands on your ass when you’re not drunk?” he snarls and I have no response for that, because I have never let him do anything like that before tonight. Kyle’s not my type really. He’s too clean-cut and he doesn’t have any tattoos, or stubble on his jaw.
I open my eyes and look across at Jax. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. His forearms are huge, with dark tattoos winding around them, merging together and snaking all the way up to his shoulders. My gaze travels up to his neck where some of his ink peeks out of the collar of his t-shirt and curls around the thick column of his throat. They can’t be seen when he wears a dress shirt and I know he likes it that way, because sometimes he wants to look clean-cut too.
But he’s not. He’s dangerous. He is fire and fury, and burning. The most lethal man I know. And I have been in love with him for three long years.
“I’m sorry, Jax,” I mumble sleepily as my eyes roll in my head and I have to close them again. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Any time.”
“I love you,” I mumble.
Crap! Did I just say that out loud? Well, maybe he didn’t hear me anyway.
