The man shoved Vanessa back, making her stumble.
Jordan was across the hall in an instant, inserting his body between the two of them, one hand planting in the middle of the stranger’s chest, and the other gripping Vanessa’s arm.
He scanned the guy for weapons. Nothing obvious. He didn’t look old enough to be packing anything other than bravado, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Good, you’re here,” Vanessa said in that haughty tone of hers, sounding completely unaware of the possible danger she was in. “Can you please remove this jerk from the premises? He was verbally assaulting one of my girls, and I think we should call the police.”
Sharp nails scored Jordan’s forearms as she tried to get ahead of him again. And here he thought there were no exposed weapons.
“That bitch owes me a hundred bucks.” The stranger jabbed his finger over Jordan’s shoulder, then lunged forward again.
Jordan let go of Vanessa and turned to block the manfrom moving another inch. Up close, Jordan realized the punk wasn’t much older than the boys on his team.
“Should wereallycall the police?” Someone in the back asked.
There was a loud sob, and even though he knew it wasn’t Vanessa, it did nothing to ease the pressure in his chest. Damn it, someone could’ve hurt her or any one of those girls. On his fucking watch.
“You know what? Call the fucking police. I don’t care. Jail doesn’t scare me,” the intruder said, but the way his eyes darted to the side, Jordan knew he was full of shit.
“Yeah, well, you’re not dealing with the police right now.” Jordan kept his voice quiet, deliberate. “You’re dealing with me.” It was threat enough, and it echoed down the now silent hallway.
This kid was one bad decision away from pissing himself, and he knew it.
The punk’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes were bloodshot, not from drugs like Jordan had first thought, but from fear. Or maybe exhaustion? From life being too hard, for too long, for someone far too young?
“What’s your name?”
“Fuck you.”
Jordan blinked. “If that’s your name, I recommend changing it.”
The younger man tried to jerk away, but Jordan blocked him. So far, he hadn’t touched him. He didn’t want to teach this kid that force was the only way to win at life.
“Name,” he demanded.
With a quick glance and a second of deliberation, he finally admitted, “Murray.”
“How old are you, Murray?”
Murray’s eyes narrowed. “Twenty-one.”
Jordan’s brow arched. “You sure about that?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in June,” Murray muttered.
“Tell me why you came here and threatened these women, Murray.”
Murray shot a look at someone over his shoulder. “She owes me a hundred bucks, and I need it back now.”
“I don’t have it.” A quivering voice cut through the tension behind Jordan.
Vanessa’s voice came next, soft and sweet. “It’s okay, Rory, you don’t have to speak to jerks who come in like torpedoes and demand things from you.” Then she whispered, “Men usually suck,” before she tried to slide around him again.
Damn it, why didn’t she ever stay put?
Nudging her back, he met the fire in her gaze with a cold stare of his own. For once she conceded, retreating to wrap her arm around Rory’s slumped shoulders and pull her close.
When their gazes collided again, the fight was still there, but so was a fierce, unapologetic protectiveness. Vanessa cared about these girls. She wasn’t posturing. She was standing up for them.
