He stops, spinning around quickly and leveling a furious gaze at everybody around us. I blink back my surprise and do the only thing I can to make the situation less intense. I rub my thumb along the back of his hand in what I hope is a soothing manner. Something he sees settles him, and we go back to trudging through the crowd. Ian’s head swings to the left and the right with precision as he mean-mugs everyone we pass. A few of the members of the Fort Bragg charter shoot him confused looks until their eyes land on me, like I’m a missing puzzle piece, and they give me one of those man nods.
Wyatt, the club’s vice president, stands at the bar up ahead. A young brunette, whom I think I recognize as one of Cheyenne’s friends, hangs off one of his arms. In his other arm, he’s holding a beer that he finishes off and slaps on the bar top, not paying the girl any mind. His eyes lift as he spots Ian and communicates something with his gaze. No words pass between the two men, just a series of head nods and a few grunts. Wyatt moves off the stool he’s been occupying and steps back. The brunette moves to dodge his large body and disappears into the crowd. It’s only now that I notice she’s not wearing pants—a tank top, thong underwear, and fishnets with stilettos on her feet, but no freaking pants.
“Stay here,” Ian says. He turns toward me and directs me onto the offered stool, which I take. Dipping his head close to my ear, he finishes with, “Soda or water. No booze or anything else that might make me unhappy.”
His words are menacing, meant to be taken seriously. And I do take him seriously, but I don’t fear him like I think he wants me to. He could hurt me in so many ways and I still don’t think I’d fear him. He’s Ian.
“You’re leaving me here alone?” God, I sound like such a freaking baby. His answering smile is all I need to relax a little.
“Club business, babe. Can’t avoid it. Chel will take care of you.” He nods behind the bar and tips his head to me. I follow his gaze to a barely dressed woman pouring drinks and giving Ian a sexy smile. It’s not flirty in an immature way or anything. It’s just sultry and sexy and all woman. Her eyes slide to me with a friendly smile. She moves close and leans across the bar.
Her voice is low as she says, “Every man in here saw you walk in with Ian. I’ll watch over you, but you don’t need it.”
“I’m not worried about . . .” I stop myself. I don’t really know how to say what I want to say. Maybe I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, but either way it’s just not coming out right.
“Remember my warning, Melinda,” Ian says, his lips brushing my ear. A tingle runs down my spine at the unexpected contact. I should be terrified. I should cringe. I don’t. Instead, I just breathe him in and enjoy this perfect tiny moment. And I nod. Because I’ve suddenly realized that he’s waiting for a response.
“Good girl.” So tenderly, he places a kiss to the top of my head. My eyes flutter closed in response to his intimate touch. I force them open and watch as he leaves with Wyatt.
From the corner of my eye I notice the vested men we passed on our way in. Their eyes are on me. Some staring curiously and some inspecting, but they’re all paying attention. It’s not dirty or scary, it’s just . . . interesting. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a look of respect. But that doesn’t make any sense.
“Water or pop?” Chel asks from behind the bar.
“Pop?” I turn and try to get into the conversation with her, but it’s hard. Everything is so unnerving here.
“Soda.” I wrinkle my nose at the foreign term but don’t ask. She elaborates anyway. “I’m from the Midwest. I guess some things you never lose.”
I give her a genuine smile and decide that I like her. “Water’s fine.”
She’s only gone for a moment before she returns with a bottle of water and hands it to me. I take a large gulp and will myself to chill out. Chel seems nice and Ian trusts her, so that’s something. With every sip of water, I feel more comfortable in this space. I wasn’t pleased about Holly’s relationship with Grady at first, but I can’t deny the appeal of this world. I watch idly as Chel serves drinks and chats up different men. Some seem to communicate something deeper than a beverage request to her, and others take their drinks and leave.
Taking a break from my people-watching, I send Holly a text to let her know where I went. I get the notification that she’s seen the message, but she doesn’t respond. That’s okay. I was a jerk for ditching her when we were supposed to hang out, and I can’t really blame her for being upset with me. After a few minutes, I give up waiting for a response and shove the phone back in my pocket. The man beside me vacates his stool, and it’s not long before another man takes his place. I try not to be fearful of every movement and each noise I don’t immediately recognize.