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Matthias hisses and raises his glass like he’s about to dump the contents on our baby brother’s lap, but there’s a shout from the bar, and the hackles on my neck stand on end. I spend enough time here to know the difference between a drunken shout and one that’s got real anger behind it.
We all jump to our feet, and in five seconds we’re over at the bar where the shout came from.
When we get there, we see a six-foot meathead, fists bunched at his sides, his stump for a neck turning almost purple as he stares down at a woman standing with her back to us. He easily towers over her barely five feet.
An all too familiar five feet of long black hair, blue ankle boots, and a candy striper uniform.
How long has it been? A month?
It feels longer than that, or maybe it feels like it’s only been since yesterday. It’s hard to tell—so much has happened since then.
Including how she hasn’t left my mind since that night…
I don’t have time to ponder on the question, because purple-neck guy shouts so loud it can be heard over the noise of the entire bar. “What did you fucking say to me?”
My brothers bristle next to me; Matthias especially. His fiancée owns a cigar and whiskey bar in Manhattan, and he knows as well as I do how dangerous these situations can get if they’re not diffused quickly. In the doorway, I see our bouncer step into the bar from his post outside the door, ready to end things before they get any further.
Candy Striper takes a step toward the guy, her tone taunting as she says, “I said, I’ve had more interested conversations with a baked potato. Even if you do kinda look like one.”
It’s definitely the same voice that goes with the crazy hair and ankle boots.
And it seems like every time I’ve heard it, it’s trying to antagonize someone.
And apparently, it’s had the desired effect on Baked Potato. He grunts, practically foaming at the mouth as he lifts one hand menacingly in the air. “Little bitch. One more word and I’m going to shut that smart mouth up.”
Kylian tries to push past me, but Damien holds him back. The last thing we need is our youngest brother getting his head smashed in by a walking jacket potato.
“Sir, I think you should come with me,” Jed, my bouncer, says, putting his hand on Baked Potato’s shoulder.
“No, no. It’s fine, he can stay. He can’t hurt me,” Candy Striper twitters, and I inwardly groan.
Baked Potato almost bursts out of his leathery skin. “No? Watch me. Watch me show you what—”
And then it happens, all in a split second. Candy Striper rocks back on her heels and launches herself toward him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur under my breath as I rush forward, grab her around the waist, and yank her back before he can get his hands on her. Gritting my teeth, I storm forward with my shoulder, feeling it jar against Baked Potato’s brick of a chest, sending a shattering quake through my gum. Baked Potato roars, but it’s also enough to knock him off his center as I take her with me through the club, kicking and screaming, until we’re outside.
“Hey! Stop. Fighting. Me!” I shout when we clear the threshold and stumble out onto the sidewalk.
“No!” she shouts, her foot making painful contact with my shin.
“Ow!” I cry out, almost letting go of her, but I manage to hold on. “I said stop!”
“Let me go!” she shouts again, and somewhere in the melee of arms and legs, her teeth clamp onto my arm and she bites down. Hard. Hard enough to break through skin.
It almost makes me drop her again, but I use the pain to pull her tighter against me. “Look, you little crazy-nutter troublemaker, you need to calm down,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Or else I’m not going to put you down.”
She squirms for another second.
And then, with one final wriggle, she stills, breathing heavily in my arms.
Her head drops down on my shoulder, her breath hot against my neck.
I wait for her to get a second wind when I feel her stomach tense under my fingertips. But her chest starts to billow with steady deep breaths. Ones that seem to fill her up from head to toe, then burst out of her in big balloon-deflating gasps.
And I realize she’s crying.
The sound comes out firstly in soft little sniffles, then they grow and grow until she openly weeps, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck, where they hold on tightly.
