“I’m Nick,” I say, calm, clear.
The round-faced one licks his lips, a fake grin twitching. “Yeah, we know. Nick Consele. Heard you nearly died saving some guy and your dog. I get risking your life for your team, but the dog?” He chuckles. I picture snapping his windpipe between my thumbs.
“Cool,” I say flatly. “Now, how about you two call it a night? I’m taking my friend home.”
“Your friend?” the better-looking one smirks.
“She’s my sister’s friend. Asked me to keep an eye on her.” They know I’m lying. I don’t give a shit.
“She doesn’t want to go,” Round-Face says.
“She doesn’t have a choice.” Then I feel her small hands on my shoulder. I turn—Mel’s glaring.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Keeping your name out of the police blotter.”
“These guys are nice,” she says. “They offered to pay since my card got declined.”
I look past her. “Bailey—put Mel’s tab on mine.” When I turn back, she’s blinking like I just slapped her.
“What the f?—”
“Handled.” I cut her off. “Now?—”
“I don’t know what your prob—” Round-Face starts.
I grab his shoulder. Squeeze. Not enough to injure, but enough to hurt. He flinches. That feels good.
“I don’t have a problem,” I say, low and steady. “But I do have a line. And groping drunk women who can’t make clear decisions? That’s over it. So finish your beers—and keep your hands off her.”
Mel steps in. “Nick, stop treating me like I’m some helpless kid.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
She scoffs.
I drop my voice, not loud, but lethal. “If you didn’t drink like you were bulletproof and dress like bait, I wouldn’t have to do this.”
She recoils. That one cut too deep. But I don’t take it back.
“She’s not even yours, you psycho,” Round-Face snaps. “We heard you lost your damn mind when you got back from Iraq.”
The itch hits hard. I haven’t felt much in months—but this? This feels like fire under my skin. Feels alive.
“How about you both pay and get out before I do something I’ll regret.”
Better-looking shrugs. “Why do we have to leave? You’re the one leaving.”
“Because I fuckingsaid so.” My voice cut through the air. Better-Looking backs up. Then Round-Face opens his mouth again. “Speaking of leaving—there goes your bitch.”
That’s it.
My hands are around his throat before I even think. I slam him back against the wall, fingers clamped tight. His face turns red. Eyes wide.
“Nick!” Bailey shouts. “Let him go!”
I do. Slowly. Controlled. Not for him—for me. Then I hear it—a door slam. My head whips around.
