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"That's enough, Brewer," I whispered in his ear. "He gets the message. Let him go."
A heartbeat of silence passed and seemed to stretch for eternity. Then Brewer released Stephen's shirt. Stephen curled up on his side, wheezing as blood stained his teeth and drooled from the corner of his mouth.
"Guess it's your lucky day, asshole," Brewer said. "I wasn't going to stop until I'd rearranged your face with my fist. Turns out Alexandra is a better person than I am."
My gaze flicked to Brewer's profile when he said my name. I liked the way he said it – the grit in his voice, the deep, satisfying rumble of his tone.
Brewer jabbed a finger in Stephen's direction. Stephen flinched with a moan.
"If you ever come near her again," Brewer said. "She'll cut your balls off. Then you'll have to deal with me. Got it?"
Stephen spat another gob of blood onto the pavement.
"I have friends, you know," he croaked. "I can get a damn good lawyer. I'll see you put away for assault and battery charges. For life."
I could feel the tension coiled in Brewer's body. Everything about him was hard right now, from the muscles in his back to the rigid line of his shoulders to his fists at his side, bloodied from Stephen's face. I almost thought he would descend on Stephen again and finish him off. I dug my fingernails into his chest to remind Brewer that Stephen wasn't worth the jail time.
"That's fine," Brewer said. "Spoiled little rich brat like you can have me arrested. It's happened before. But you see my boys behind me?"
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. I turned to see the entire gang of Alpha Riders standing in a semi-circle around the spectacle. A flicker of fear passed across Stephen's eyes.
"Yeah," Brewer said. "That's right. You should be shittin' your pants right about now. If you come for me, my boys will hunt you down. Put the fear of hellfire into you. And you’ll never know a day of peace in your life again. Always lookin’ over your shoulder. Scared for your life. So, go ahead. Get me arrested if you think that's the smartest move."
Then Brewer pried my arms off him. When he curled his fingers around my hand, he completely enveloped me. I was surprised at how gentle his grip was after committing an atrocious act of violence, nearly beating my ex-fiancé to death. Despite the blood on Brewer's battered knuckles, he held my hand as if I was as delicate as a dove.
Turning back toward the bar, Brewer addressed the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle.
"Show's over!" he bellowed. "Get outta here."
A murmur of conversation began to ripple through the onlookers. Brewer held his ground and didn't budge until everyone had filtered back inside. One of his men with sleeve tattoos approached with a Vice President patch on his shoulder. They bowed their heads together, speaking in low tones for a moment. Then the Vice President hauled Stephen over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
"All right, rich brat," he said. "Now that you've had your ass handed to you on a silver platter, it's time you made yourself scarce."
Brewer shifted, blocking my view from his vice president's departure. I glanced up at him and he squeezed my hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
After the gruff way he'd addressed Stephen, Brewer's voice was quiet and surprisingly gentle. I nodded.
"I'm fine." I gestured to his bloody knuckles. "Let me get you some ice."
"That's not necessary."
I shifted closer, briefly resting my cheek against his shoulder. I could feel the raging heat of his body through his paper-thin shirtsleeve.
"It's the least I can do after standing up for me like that, defending me. I'll throw in a round of drinks on the house for you and your buddies too." I curled my fingers around his wrist, gazing up at Brewer. There were other ways of thanking him that were flying through my mind and none of them were holy thoughts. "Please," I whispered.
After a moment of consideration, Brewer nodded and I led him back into the bar.
Chapter Four
I followed Alexandra through the bar and into a storage closet, the shelves brimming with bottles of liquor. The room was small enough that she could reach out and touch both sides at the same time without any strain. It was really only intended for one person – the bartender – to find whatever they needed to keep the customers well-watered and head out. With two people, it was a significantly tighter fit.
Alexandra seemed even smaller than I’d realized before; she barely came up to my shoulder. As I towered over her, I was struck by how fragile she looked. Vulnerable. And tired. That douchebag had stolen her peace of mind and it seemed like this whole situation had been weighing on her for longer than necessary. All I wanted to do was protect her, wrap my arms around her and destroy anything that dared to lay a finger on her.
Alexandra pulled up a chair from the back of the closet and held it out to me.
“I usually take breaks in here,” she said. “No one will bother us for a while. Sit.”
