My eyes scanned the general layout of the small club from the large, very dirty window out front. I didn’t see Becker, but I did finally spot a woman alone at the bar. Her hair color gave her away, the deep-red strands now long enough to brush her shoulders.
I grimaced as I noticed the short, black, leather skirt she was wearing, and the skimpy green top that barely covered her breasts. Her black stiletto heels were secured over the lower rung of the round stool, and she was sipping slowly on some fluffy drink that was topped with whipped cream.
“What in the hell are you doing, Danica? You sure as fuck don’t belong here,” I said in a raspy voice.
The clothes, the location, the boyfriend…everything was wrong. The Danica I was acquainted with wanted nothing more than to chase down a story that she thought needed to be told. She wore a T-shirt and jeans because it made it easier for her to go after her story.
She didn’t wear several inches of makeup like she was sporting now.
She didn’t need it.
She never had.
Dani Lawson was drop-dead gorgeous without makeup and with hair of whatever color she wanted to tint it.
Protective instincts rose up inside me, emotions I definitely didn’t want but couldn’t seem to contain.
Unlike Jett, my obsession to watch over Danica was far from platonic, even though I’d never fucked her.
As usual, my cock was standing at attention just from watching Dani sitting at the bar. She was my only weakness aside from my family, and I had a love/hate relationship with the youngest Lawson sibling because of it.
If I wanted to be truthful with myself—which I really didn’t—I’d had blue balls for Dani almost from the first moment I met her. Maybe that’s why we were always fighting before I’d rescued her in the Middle East. Of course, she had been under the false impression that I’d broken her older sister’s heart. Or maybe it was because I was generally an asshole, and she had no problem standing up for herself. She was the only woman who’d never had a problem getting into my face if I pissed her off, and she’d actually made fun of me on occasion.
I definitely hadn’t liked that, but I did grudgingly admire her for her outspoken, smart-ass demeanor.
I still remembered the stories she’d told about her captivity on our way back from Turkey to the US. That time, she’d been different from the woman I’d previously known. Her vulnerability had practically destroyed me because I knew how she’d been before being kidnapped.
My fists clenched in anger as I remembered her frightened, expressive eyes, and I wasn’t sure how she’d even managed to survive the emotional and physical torture.
My eyes scanned the outside area of the club just to make sure that Becker wasn’t arriving to meet Danica. Not that I really cared, but I wanted to be prepared if I was going to meet more resistance than just Dani’s when I went to take her out of this place.
I’d promised Jett that I’d get his sister away from danger, and this place reeked of evil. Dani didn’t belong here, and whatever crazy bullshit Becker was feeding her needed to be cut off now.
As I stepped up to the glass door, I saw a drunken patron sidle up to the bar, using the stable surface to keep him upright.
“Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growled as I yanked the door open.
Danica’s squeal of alarm rang through the rancid air of the bar just as I stepped inside.
There was a male hand on Dani’s ass that didn’t belong to me, and anybody touching her there who wasn’t me was completely unacceptable. The trashed male was twice her size, and as his fingers curled around her wrist to try to drag her off the barstool, I lost total control of my reasoning ability. It was something that had never happened to me before, but as I stepped forward, it felt pretty damn good to plant my fist in his face and watch him hit the dirty floor with a satisfying thud.
Dani
I hated this bar.
I hated this area.
I hated the hooker skirt and top I was wearing.
And I really hated the sickly sweet drink I was sipping.
However, I also wanted to see Greg Becker, and I knew he’d arrive here eventually. He was habitually late for almost everything, so I knew I’d have to be patient.
“Hey, little lady,” a tall, drunk man said to me as he stumbled to the bar. “A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be alone. How much?”
My skin crawled as the guy’s hand squeezed the cheek of my ass through my tight leather skirt, and his face moved so close to mine that I could smell his rotten breath.
I should expect to be propositioned. I’m in a bar where most of the women are prostitutes. This is where they get most of their hookups.
Nevertheless, I let out a squeamish scream as the cheek of my butt got palmed and squeezed even harder.
“Not for sale,” I said in a warning voice, ready to forcibly remove his hands from my body. He was so drunk that he’d probably fall over if he didn’t have any support.
I never got the opportunity to test my theory and shake off his grip. One very large fist to the drunk’s face and he toppled like a ton of bricks.
I jerked my head to the left to see who had rescued me.
Then I took a second look.
Marcus? What in the hell was he doing here?
“Let’s go,” he grumbled as he clasped my hand and pulled me awkwardly off the barstool.
I stumbled over the unconscious man at my feet, barely avoiding putting a stiletto in his privates. “I can’t leave. I’m meeting someone,” I protested.
“Not anymore,” he answered in a graveled voice.
I was already outside the door when I dug my heels in, trying to yank my hand from his. Marcus was wicked strong, and I’d be compelled to keep moving if he kept dragging me along. “What are you doing here?” I asked breathlessly, stopping him temporarily, but still unable to break his grip.
“Taking your ass back to where you belong.”
“I belong here. I have a date, Marcus. I can’t just leave. I need to see Greg.”
“Didn’t anything Jett told you sink in?” Marcus replied stiffly. “Becker is an asshole and a goddamn criminal.”
“I heard Jett. I just didn’t agree,” I said huffily. “I’m old enough to decide who to go out with, for God’s sake.”
“Not if you’re making the wrong choices,” he replied in a clipped voice.
I both loved and hated his arrogant voice. The tone, the confidence, and the blunt, no-nonsense inflections in the deep baritone were uniquely Marcus Colter, but the things he said annoyed me to no end.
I yanked on my imprisoned hand again, but couldn’t free myself. Marcus had a tight grip on me, but he wasn’t hurting me. “And who are you to decide if my choices are right or wrong?”
“They’re wrong,” he said flatly. “Let’s move.”
I had to either stumble along behind him or go face-first into the pavement. Since I was a survivor, I followed him.
I cursed myself for sharing so much with my brother, Jett. He’d obviously sent Marcus in his place since he disapproved of me seeing Becker. I hadn’t expected that, nor did I want it.
“Marcus, I have to go back,” I argued. “Greg will be at his bar any minute.”
“He owns that shithole?” he asked without slowing his pace.