He holds out his hands. “I’m more than willing, baby, but my last name’s not Royal.”
I resist the urge to throw the entire contents of the glass in this asswipe’s face. “Go to hell.” I slam the glass on the bar top, then turn around and bump into Reed.
He takes one look at my face, then at Plaid Shorts’ insolent expression, and immediately sizes up what’s going on.
His eyes narrow and he shoves me behind him. “What’d you say to her?” he demands.
“It’s nothing.” I tug on Reed’s arm. “Nothing. Let’s just go.”
Scott either lacks any self-preservation instincts or has a lot of liquid courage, because he grins and says, “Ellie here just offered to screw me but I reminded her I wasn’t a Royal. I’m not even a cousin, but hey, I’m willing to take her off your hands once she’s done with you guys.”
Reed’s fist flies out so fast I don’t have a chance to react. By the time I realize what’s going on, Scott is on the ground and Reed is pounding on him. Even over the heavy bass, I can hear the crack of knuckles against bone.
“Reed! Reed! Come on!” I yell and pull at his shoulders, but he’s too focused on rearranging all of Scott’s features. Others try to help me, although I think some of them are actively cheering on the fight.
Finally three bouncers push through the crowd and yank Reed away, leaving Scott lying on the floor—blood streaming from his nostrils and one eye swollen shut.
“You’re going to have to leave,” one of the black T-shirt clad bouncers snaps.
“Fine.” Reed jerks out of the bouncer’s grasp and grabs my wrist. I know what he wants before he opens his mouth.
“I’ll get Easton,” I assure him.
Reed nods. He points to one of the bouncers, a blond guy who looks like he eats steroids for breakfast and small children for dinner. “You, stay with her. Anything happens to her again,” he stresses that word, “this place will be shut down and turned into a kiddie playground before end of business tomorrow.”
I don’t wait for the bouncers and Reed to come to an agreement. It’s time for Reed to get out of here. He’s filled with adrenaline and I can see he needs to exit this bar before the urge to get into another fight overtakes him.
“Easton’s over by the bathrooms,” Reed shouts as the bouncers escort him toward the entrance. I’ve lost track of Val, but I’ve got to get to Easton.
As I hurry away, I hear whispers. The people nearest to the fight have started gossiping.
“What just happened?”
“I think we just saw the proclamation of another Royal decree. Say anything bad about Ella Royal and you’ll be drinking your meals from a straw for the next six months.”
“She must be awesome in bed,” someone remarks.
“No sex like trashy sex,” another voice says. “Those bitches will let you do anything.”
My ears burn and I’m tempted to repeat Reed’s violent actions on every one of those smug faces, but I can’t stop because I catch sight of Easton in the hallway near the bathrooms.
I push through the crowd, but Easton doesn’t go into the men’s room. Instead he walks to the end of the hall toward the exit door.
“Excuse me,” I mutter as I duck around the line of girls waiting to use the ladies’ room and past a couple making out in a not-so-dark corner.
“Easton,” I call, but he doesn’t stop. I know he hears me, because I can see his body twitch in acknowledgment. But he just keeps going.
I race down the hall, emerging from the door several seconds after him. I instantly skid to a halt.
He’s in the back alley with two other guys, and it doesn’t look like they’re enjoying a smoke break.
Oh no. What has Easton gotten himself into?
The two guys have dark brown hair, slicked back away from their faces. They’re wearing white T-shirts and jeans that hang down low and I’d bet if they turned around I’d see their boxers. Not that I would want to. A metal chain hangs from one of their belt loops.
“Go inside, Ella.” Easton’s voice is harder and colder than I’ve ever heard from him before.
“Now hold up,” says the chain guy. “You can pay your debt off with her if you want.” He grabs his crotch. “Lend the bitch to me for a week and we’ll call it even.”
My life before the Royals was filled with seediness, and I recognize a shake down when I see one.
The Monday night football game runs through my mind.
“How much?” I ask Mr. Chain.
“Ella—” Easton starts.
I cut him off. “How much does he owe you?”
“Eight grand.”
I nearly faint, but beside me, Easton tries to shrug it off like eight grand is pocket change. “I’ll have it next week. All you have to do is sit tight.”