“I'm a paying customer.” He spread his arms wide, all false innocence. “Just want to see those snakes you were so protective of.”
Anger, hot and sudden, flooded through Jamie's system. This asshole had hurt Emma, had put his hands on her, and now he strutted back in like nothing had happened?
“Get out.” The words scraped past Jamie's throat, surprising him with their firmness.
The guy's attention swung to Jamie, and that sneer widened. “There he is. How’s the head, pretty boy? Still tender?”
“I said get out.”
“Or what?” The guy stepped closer, using his height advantage to loom. “You'll cry? Call the cops again? They didn't do shit last time.”
“That’s because you ran away,” Emma said.
From the back room came a sound that raised every hair on Jamie's arms. Not quite human, not quite animal. Pure threat wrapped in a rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
Sloane emerged from the storage room like something out of a nightmare. Not shifted, still human, but every line of his body screamed predator. His eyes had gone flat and dangerous, locked on the guy with laser focus.
“You.” The word came out more growl than speech.
The guy's bravado cracked slightly, just a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But he covered it with more aggression, squaring up like he was ready to fight. “And who the fuck are you?”
“The person who's going to remove you from this store.” Sloane moved forward with liquid grace, positioning himself between the guy and everyone else. “Permanently.”
“Big talk.” The guy's voice carried less confidence now, but he held his ground. “You think I'm scared of some pretty boy playing hero?”
Emma stepped out from behind the counter, tiny hands planted on her hips. “You're a bully. A sad, pathetic bully who gets off on scaring people smaller than you. You need to learn some humility and kindness.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
The words had barely left his mouth before Jamie was moving. “Don't talk to her like that!”
The guy laughed, ugly and mocking. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“He doesn't have to do anything.” Sloane’s voice had dropped to something deadly quiet. “Piss off. Don’t come near this store again. Don't come near them again. This is your only warning.”
“Fuck your warning.”
The man swung wild, telegraphing the punch so obviously that Jamie could have dodged it himself. But Sloane was already moving, flowing around the attacker like water.
The man's fist met empty air.
Sloane’s connected with his jaw.
The crack echoed through the store, sharp and final. The man's eyes rolled back, his body going limp. He dropped like someone had cut his strings, out cold before he even finished falling, a little drool already pooling under his slack mouth.
Silence descended, broken only by the bubbling of fish tanks and Emma's sharp intake of breath.
“Holy crap,” she whispered. “That was like something out of an action movie. Did you see how fast he dropped? Holy shit! You knocked him out cold!”
“Call Sheriff Owen,” Sloane interrupted, not even breathing hard. “Tell him we have trash that needs collecting.”
Jamie couldn’t look away from Sloane. Arousal hit him like a physical force, completely inappropriate for the situation but undeniable. The controlled violence, the protective fury, the way Sloane had ended the threat without hesitation. Everything about it made Jamie's pulse race for entirely different reasons than fear.
His mate. His protector. His.
Emma was already dialing, words tumbling over each other as she explained the situation to the sheriff. The man on the floor groaned but didn't move, probably going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up.
Good.
