I saw someone hurting Sloane, and it’s like every life lesson, every tender moment, had been erased and I’m back to being ten years old again.
Sloane asked me to be in her heat. She was helping me hard launch Finnegan the Fox, and now I’m no better than the man I’ve spent my entire life hating.
I’m not sure how long I sit in the booth, my hands shaking and my eyes closed. My stomach aches, the omelet I was eating earlier threatening to come up.
It feels like it’s been an eternity as a strong hand touches my shoulder. It’s probably the fucking cops. Great, I’ll be a goddamn felon just like him.
“Help me carry him out of here,” Bram says.
I swallow and look up. “What?” I ask.
“No one else saw what happened. Cassidy told everyone there was a fire in the kitchen and to evacuate. He threatened your Omega. You have every right to act the way you did. So we’re handling this ourselves.”
“What?” I blink at him.
He grabs my chin roughly and leans down to get in my face. It isn’t menacing, it’s almost tender in a somewhat terrifying way.
“Grab his legs, and I’ll grab under his armpits.”
I stand and do as he says as we take him out to the back of the restaurant.
“Is Sloane okay?” I ask him, feeling like a fucking asshole.
“Yes. Piper picked her up,” he says easily.
“Is she scared?”
“No. She’s worried about you. She didn’t want to go.”
“Thank you for that. I don't want her to see me like this,” I reply.
This man is heavy as hell as I push the bar on the door, the stench of the dumpster filling my nose as my shoes hit the wet pavement.
“If you wouldn’t have done it, I would have. You would have done the same for me.”
He says it so assuredly, and it’s the truth. I would have.
“We might not be bonded to her yet. But we’re gonna be a pack. This is what a pack does. As long as you promise me that you would only raise your hand to someone who is a threat.”
“I’d never ever raise my hand to her. Ever. Or to my pack. Just seeing him touching her and threatening her like that—it fucked me up.”
“Here, put him against the dumpster,” Bram says.
I swallow, wondering why he didn’t make any more comments about my outburst. Or ask me further questions.
“What’s the game plan?” I ask him.
“Grab his wallet,” Bram says, and I do, handing it over to him.
Bram empties the contents on the concrete as the man groans and spits. Bram gets down to his haunches and looks the man over.
“Shame you were mugged. If I see you here again or anywhere around my Omega or Beta, we’ll ruin your fucking life. You’ll have a lot more to worry about than a broken nose, Justin Lann of 568 Witt Ave,” he says, looking at the man’s license before pocketing it.
“I won’t,” the man rasps out.
Bram is clicking through his phone. “You certainly wouldn’t want to break probation. I’d bet you want to get your face fixed and forget this ever happened.”
Bram stands up, slightly kicking the man’s leg.
