Then Marci laughed at something one of the regulars said.The sound cut through the noise, brighter than the jukebox, sharp enough to hook straight into my ribs.She looked comfortable for the first time that day, shoulders loose, smile real.Watching her enjoy a small piece of peace locked something solid inside me.
Protecting her made sense in a way nothing else had for a long time.
If Mercer arrived, he wouldn’t find the same frightened woman he once controlled.He would find the Savage Raptors between him and his obsession.And he would learn fast what happened to men who targeted someone claimed as ours.
The lesson would hurt.
* * *
The drunk sat hunched over his second whiskey, and twenty minutes later he decided he deserved a third.I had already clocked him: mid-forties, wedding-ring tan line but no ring, sloppy confidence from too much booze and not enough sense.His attention kept drifting toward Marci whenever he thought no one noticed.Eyes tracking her body, following her movements, full of want rather than interest.He had stayed quiet so far and kept his hands to himself, so I’d allowed him to remain.Poor judgment on my part.
He crooked a finger toward her, summoning her through a smug look that made my jaw clench.Marci checked my position first, a brief flick of her gaze that had turned into habit over the past few days.I gave a small nod to show I was watching.Most men understood the rules in a bar likeThe Spoke.You ordered your drink, you kept your hands to yourself, and you walked out alive.
Some men believed their desires outweighed everything else.
“Another whiskey,” he slurred.“Make it a double, sweetheart.”
A faint hesitation rippled across Marci’s shoulders.She didn’t want to pour the drink, didn’t want to serve him at all, but refusing a drunk hovering near his tipping point could turn dangerous too.She gave him the double anyway, expression controlled, voice steady.
“Twelve dollars.”
His wallet came out slowly.Too slowly.He counted bills like he wanted to drag the moment out, as if forcing her to wait gave him control over her.She stayed calm, patient, professional, her posture saying she wanted nothing from him except his payment and distance.
The bills landed in her hand, and she turned toward the register.
His hand moved before she reached the till.
I caught the shift of his weight, the sudden lunge of his arm, the exact placement of his palm heading for the small of her back.She didn’t see a thing.She only saw the register.His fingers spread across her spine, possessive and deliberate.
Marci went rigid.Every muscle locked, echoing the moment behind the dumpster when Mercer’s car door slammed and she turned to stone.Shock drowned her in an instant.That kind of stillness wasn’t surprise.It came from survival.It came from training born of fear.
My body reacted before thought kicked in.One step.Then another.My hand clamped around the drunk’s wrist hard enough for bones to shift under the pressure.I yanked his arm away from her so fast his barstool skidded.
“Put a hand on her again” -- I kept my voice low enough to be heard only by him -- “and you lose it.”
The bar roared on as if nothing had happened.Pool balls cracked.Laughter cut across the room.Someone shouted about the next round.Inside this small pocket of space, silence wrapped around us.
The drunk stared at me.Fear finally cut through the alcohol haze and settled in his eyes.His wrist felt thin in my grip.I could have snapped the fragile bone under a quick twist.One clean break, maybe two.Pain sharp enough to ensure he never tried this again.The urge rode high in my bloodstream, fed by every flash of panic I had seen from Marci, every nightmare she hadn’t spoken aloud, every bruise some man had once left on her skin.
Police attention would follow a broken wrist.Cameras and witnesses guaranteed trouble.I forced my fingers to loosen even though every muscle in me wanted to crush bone.
A short, strangled noise escaped the drunk’s throat.
“I’m sorry,” he babbled.“Didn’t mean anything, I swear, I was just --”
“Out.”I let go of his wrist.“You have ten seconds before I decide to teach you better manners.”
He tripped over his own feet scrambling away.His friends didn’t move to defend him.They didn’t even look up from their drinks.Men always noticed when a line was crossed like he’d just done.They just didn’t care until consequences arrived.Now consequences had arrived.
The door banged shut behind him.Less than a minute later, red taillights vanished down the road.
Only after he left did I turn toward Marci.
The glass she’d been holding sat on the bar.Her fingers gripped the countertop so hard her knuckles turned white.Her gaze stayed fixed on the spot the drunk had occupied, like she was still trying to understand how he’d gotten so close to her without warning.Her breathing went shallow and fast.Panic threatened.
“Hey.”My voice softened.I stepped closer but kept my hands to myself.“You’re safe.He’s gone.”
A nod came, but the movement looked mechanical rather than reassuring.
