“She’s mine,” Cass snarled before she could tell everyone there that she was an FBI agent.
Her breath shuddered out.
“Mine,” Cass repeated gutturally.
And she could see him again. Finally. As if he’d spoken some magic word, the crowd parted around him. He rose to his feet, fisted hands at his sides, while his much bigger opponent remained groaning and slumped on the floor.
Uh, oh. “Does he need medical attention?” It certainly appeared that way to her.
Cass grunted. He also began stalking toward her. The place had been so loud moments before, but now, she was pretty sure that if you just strained the tiniest bit, you’d probably be able to hear a pin drop.
Agnes feared her heaving breaths were far too loud, and, oh, crap, she was still standing on the bar’s top. Awkward.
What else was awkward? The absolutely predatory look on Cass’s handsome face. Handsome as in…dangerous. Gorgeous. Knee-weakeningly sexy.
If you went for the type.
She normally didn’t. True story. She did not normally think bad guys were hot. However, there was not anything particularly normal about her response to Cass. From the first moment that she’d seen him at the FBI Atlanta office, she’d felt as if an electric shock had gone through her entire system. She’d been working another case, and he had not exactly been enthused to meet her.
He was tall, broad-shouldered. He knew how to perfectly fill out a battered leather jacket and how to seriously work some faded jeans. His dark hair was thick and tousled, his jaw covered by the dark scruff of a light beard, and his intense eyes glittered. Not completely dark eyes. Some gold lurked deep in that darkness. And such a fierce glower currently covered his hard and chiseled face.
Oh, yeah. I’m hot for the bad guy.
But she did have a few other concerns at the moment other than just his incredible hotness.
She craned her head and looked behind Cass as he continued his intent stalking routine. The man on the floor was starting to rise. Agnes cleared her throat. “Uh, Cass…”
He lifted his right hand. “Throw his ass out.”
That was it? Just throw him out? After an attempted murder?
Cass was in front of her now. Glaring up at her.
Agnes wet her lips. “He tried to kill you. You don’t need to throw his ass out.” She kept her voice soft. “You need to press charges.” Obviously. “Should I arrest—Cass!” The last of her words ended in a shocked yelp because he’d hauled her off the bar and just tossed her over his shoulder like that was a normal thing.
She would admit, it was a fairly hot thing, if you went for that sort of alpha behavior. Maybe I do. But, it was not normal. And there had just been an assault, an attempted murder honestly, and Cass should be pressing charges, not carrying her around on his shoulder as if?—
“Mine,” Cass said again.
He was referring to her. Sighing, Agnes shoved her right hand against his back and levered herself up a bit so that she could see the crowd.
A whole lot of people were glowering at her.
So she sent a friendly wave with her left hand. “Delighted to meet you all.”
Cass growled. Then he began marching through the crowd—well, more stalking again, really. The assembled bikers parted even more for him, and she saw that the attacker had already vanished. Wow. Talk about fast. Apparently, when the leader of the Night Strikers said jump, everyone bounced. Or, in this case, they all threw out an unwelcome visitor.
No one waved back to her which was, quite simply, rude. Before she could tell them all her opinion, though, she was outside. Cass had carried her outside of the dingy bar, and for a moment, she very much feared that he was just going to dump her on her ass on the sidewalk and walk away. Then he’d strut back in the bar and tell everyone that she wasn’t supposed to be allowed inside and that would be problematic. “Uh, Cass…” Agnes cleared her throat. She tried to sound charming instead of worried as she continued, “Cass, my awesome new friend, how about you calm down?—”
His growl cut through her words. “We are not friends.”
Oh, ouch. “Someone’s extra pissy after a fight. Good to know. I—ah!”
He’d hauled her off his shoulder.
But he hadn’t plunked her ass on the ground. Instead, she was…
Her brows snapped together. “Is this your motorcycle?” She shifted her position, adjusted her legs so that she straddled the massive bike, and her hands flew to grip the handlebars. “Because I love it. One hundred percent love it.” She did. Agnes was not just blowing smoke up his cute, jean-clad ass. “I bet it feels like you are flying when you drive this thing.” A blissful sigh escaped her. “Any chance you’ll let me go for a spin? I promise to be very, very careful.”
