Something’s wrong.
I’m out of the booth before anyone notices I’ve moved. Dean’s still talking. Nathan says something behind me. I don’t hear it.
All I know is that she is here.
Working.
Looking like she’s one word away from bolting.
And whatever’s doing that to her?
Is about to have a very bad night.
He touches her.
Or tries to.
Fingers raised. Smile slick.
“We could be good together,” he says, like he knows her. Like he has a right to say that to my wife.
Sabrina’s shoulders tense. “Elliot,” Her mouth opens, but before she can say another word, I’m there.
I don’t remember closing the distance.
But I do remember the sound of my voice.
Low. Lethal.
“Don’t fucking touch my wife.”
The words fall like a threat. Like a promise.
Elliott—or whatever the hell his name is—jerks his hand back like he’s been burned. Good. Because he’s about one second away from having every tooth he owns scattered across the Reserve’s marble floors.
Sabrina spins, her eyes wide. “Langston.”
She says my name like it’s a warning. Like I’m about to lose it.
And I am.
“Who the hell are you?” I snap at the man still stupid enough to be standing this close to her.
“I—uh—”
“Doesn’t matter.” I take one step forward, forcing him to backpedal. “You speak to her again, you’ll regret it.”
He opens his mouth, then thinks better of it.
Smart.
I wrap a hand around Sabrina’s waist—not gently—and pull her into my side. She fits like she was always supposed to be here. Like my world stops shaking when she’s right here.
She stiffens against me but doesn’t pull away.
Yet.
“Let’s go,” I mutter.
