His eyes narrowed and his expression got mean. He puffed out his chest, playing at intimidation. If he thought he could cow her the way he did his girls—well, he’d best think twice.
The pimp stepped closer. Looked her up and down. “I know you.” He narrowed his eyes, looked her up and down again.
She felt slimy and he hadn’t even touched her. Poor Giselle, putting up with this on the regular.
“Yeah, I know you, bitch. You’re the one who took my Gazelle.”
The asshole mangled Giselle’s name again.
“I don’t think so.” Taryn was willing to play this out for a minute. Was he smart enough to realize coming here was the biggest mistake he could make?
“No. You are. You’re the bitch who stole my girl!” He was shouting now. “Where is she? I know you’ve got her here.”
Everyone in the bar was watching now. That was fine. This could only end one way.
Her way.
“She’s not your girl.”
“I knew it. They told me you had her. Give her back.” He slammed his hand down on the counter.
Okay, she was done. Taryn stepped closer again, projecting don’t-fuck-with-me vibes. Weight balanced on the balls of her feet, she was ready to move if this went south.
Now he pushed away from the bar, his face inches from hers. From the corner of her eye, she saw his guards inch closer.
Taryn shook her head, a tiny movement telling her guys to hold.
“Bitch, give me the girl or I’ll shoot this place up.” His hand hovered near his hip. She didn’t see a weapon but didn’t doubt he was armed.
Behind her, patrons shifted, like they were trying to get a good view, rather than run. Good. They trusted the Jack to handle this.
“Bitch, I don’t have your girl.” She gave him the same up and down look he’d given her. “I can see why she left you, though.” Her gaze lingered on his crotch a hair longer than the rest of him before she met his eyes and smirked.
“Get out of my bar.” Her voice was steady. Solid. Cold as ice.
He flinched and took a step back.
Someone in the crowd snickered and the pimp seemed to realize what he’d done. He took a step closer and raised his hand.
Bastard. She’d dealt with his kind. Had the scars to prove it.
Raising that hand was a big mistake. She wasn’t one of his girls. She wasn’t under his power.
She had her own.
He lunged at her with a yell. Completely untrained, he telegraphed every move.
Taryn didn’t flinch. Didn’t even step out of the way.
She watched his hand as if he was moving in slow motion. She held perfectly still, giving nothing away as she gauged the moment it would strike and threw her hand up to block it.
Not just block it. Grab it.
Taryn wrapped her mechanical fingers around his hand and exerted slow but steady pressure.
It took him a moment to register what had happened. His expression morphing from surprise to pain was much quicker.
“Bitch!” he yelled, then his voice dropped to a squeak when she applied more pressure. It was almost comical.
