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“He didn’t call the cops,” I go on. “He called me.”
“Yes, the great Duke Harrow,” the man says, smiling thinly. “I know who you are. I’d never seen a heavyweight move like you, but it won’t make any difference if you decide to make this ugly.”
I grit my teeth, nodding, hating his tone, hating the way he holds his hand at his back, hating the rats at the poker table and the rats at the door. None of them would last even a couple of rounds with the teenagers at my gym, but here, they’re the hardest men in the world.
“I can pay what he owes,” I snap. “Now, let him out.”
“Now?” The man chuckles. “You’re giving orders, are you, Mr. Harrow?”
I grind my teeth. Staying calm is always the name of the game, but nobody can be a true fighter if they don’t have a switch deep inside of them. Maybe it’s a switch that a person is born with. Or maybe seeing violence at a young age forces it into somebody. It doesn’t matter. It’s there, and I’m so tempted to flip it.
Then what? He pulls out his gun, shoots me, kills Ryan, and maybe goes outside and kills Molly, too. My blood turns cold at that. Whatever else happens, whatever chaotic course this takes, Molly is off-limits.
“Do you have the cash?” the man says.
“Not on me,” I snap, “but I can get it.”
“Then you better go get it.”
I shake my head. My fists are clenched. My legs are twitching as if getting ready to throw kicks. My hips feel primed as if preparing my balance for grappling. There’s a war drum deep inside, beating, getting prepared.
“I’m not leaving without my son.”
Please, Molly, do what I told you. She needs to get out of here. I shouldn’t have even brought her. I can still taste her on my lips, intimacy as I’ve never experienced, a closeness I want to share again.
The man winces. “Does that seem like an intelligent thing to say?”
Behind me, I hear another man enter. I turn. My stomach sinks. This is bad. Anger thunders through me. I feel more rage at seeing Molly in this grimy place than knowing my son is trapped here. I have a protective desire. I’ll do anything to keep her safe, anything.
The man has something pressed against her back, maybe a knife or a gun. I can’t see. His hand’s out of view. She looks so beautiful in her dress, the hugging at the hips highlighting her shape. Her makeup is so subtle and gorgeous. She doesn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice torn with fear as she looks at me. “He said he’d shoot me if I didn’t—”
“Quiet, bitch,” the man grunts, looking at me with a vicious sense of victory. He’s a wiry bastard, wearing a wife beater and showing off skinny arms plastered in tattoos.
I change my position so I can keep all of them in view. Far too many for me to fight. I need tothink.
“Or I’llmakeyou be quiet.”
When the man shoves my woman, and Molly makes a pained groaning noise, I lose the ability to think. What I do next is very stupid. It could get everybody killed, but I’m reacting now in fight mode, senses heightened. I’m not thinking.
It’s not even likeIdo it. It’s my instincts surging up through me. Even with my son trapped in that bathroom, my only mission is to keep Molly safe, to get that creep away from her. I can’t let anybody hurt her. Ever.
CHAPTERNINE
Molly
I’ve screwed up badly, but I panicked when I saw the lean man striding across the street. I fumbled with the keys in the ignition. I messed up when I tried to slide into the driver’s seat. I should’ve alreadybeenin the driver’s seat. Duke’s expression became savage when he saw me.
And now…
It all happens so fast. I register it slowly. Duke leaps across the bar toward the man and me. Before the man can react—it must be less than a second—Duke kicks him in the stomach. Then he’s got his arms wrapped around him, one hand on his wrist. The man screams when Duke snaps his wrist. The gun drops to the floor.
My mouth is dry. My heart hurts, but my man needs my help. This could be it, the end for us. Theend, full stop.
I lean down and pick up the gun. My hands are shaking. The world is turning blurry as sweat slides into my eyes. I manage to raise it and point it at the men at the table.
They’re all on their feet but stop when they see me with the gun. Then, gently, Duke takes the gun from my hand. The man he kicked is on the floor, his hand bent at an unnatural angle, wincing as he tries to sit up. Duke aims the gun with purpose, panning it over the men.
