The drunk man's eyes narrow. "I was being friendly."
Ansel's other hand comes up to rest on the man's shoulder—not aggressive, but firm. "You're done talking to her. Walk away."
"Or what?" The man's bravado is all alcohol.
Ansel doesn't raise his voice. "You have three seconds before you find out."
The man backs up, hands raised. "Whatever, man. Not worth it."
He stumbles back toward the bar. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Ansel's hand is still on my lower back. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. He's just some drunk idiot." I smooth down my dress. "Can we go back to the table? I need another drink after that."
"In a minute." He studies my face. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Now, back to your original concern." His hand tightens around my waist. "What do you think it's like for us watching men throw themselves at you? Maybe the jealousy goes both ways."
My mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. But a small grunt comes out instead of words.
Eloquent. Very eloquent, Remy.
Why isn't he bothered that I just admitted that I like all of them?
Ansel just smiles and then guides me back toward the main bar when a man in dark clothes passes us in the narrow hallway. He's average height, forgettable features, the kind of person you'd walk past without noticing.
Except he looks directly at me as he passes. And he presses something into my hand. A folded piece of paper.
I stop walking, staring down at it. Ansel notices immediately.
"What is that?"
My fingers shake as I unfold it. The handwriting is neat and in cursive.
“Enjoying your new life, Remy? The expensive dinners, the billionaire boyfriends, the luxury car? I hope what you did tome was worth it. Because I'm going to take everything from you, just like you took everything from me. And I'm going to enjoy watching you lose it all.”
The paper slips from my fingers.
Ansel catches it before it hits the floor, his eyes scanning the words. His entire body goes rigid.
"Who gave this to you?" His voice is deadly quiet.
I look back, but the man is already gone. "Someone just walked past. He pressed it into my hand and kept walking."
"Description."
"Average height, dark clothes, maybe brown hair? I don't know, his face was completely forgettable."
Ansel's already pulling out his phone. "We're leaving. Now."
"Ansel, we don't have to leave." But the truth is that I am scared. I'm sure the note is from Stanley Trent. How did he find out where I'd be tonight?
"Someone just threatened you. In person. After following you to this bar." He looks me over, as if he's looking for any sign of distress. "We're leaving. End of discussion."
He walks me back toward our table with a hand on my lower back that's both protective and possessive. Breck and Enzo look up as we approach, and whatever they see on Ansel's face makes them both stand immediately.
