The bartender backs away, hand reaching for the security button under the bar. Around us, the crowd forms a widening circle, music still pounding while conversations hush, and their attention prickles across my skin.
I tighten my grip on his collar until the fabric strains. “Put the phone down.”
Darrow complies with infuriating slowness, sliding the device into his pocket. “Samuel Ortiz,” he says, my legal name sounding wrong in his mouth. “Juvenile record sealed but not erased. Assault charges. Nine months in detention. Foster care before that.”
His mouth curves into what might pass for a smile. “Saint to your friends, though. How quaint.”
How the fuck did he find out about my background?
He smirks. “What, you don’t think you’re theonlyones who had Diaz’s house under surveillance, are you? But don’t worry, I took care of the loose end earlier. The fool was seriously going about his regular business as I told him to. No sense of self-preservation. Did he not realize who he was fucking over? I saved you guys the hassle of dealing with him.”
My blood runs cold. “What do you want?”
He holds up his hands. “It’s not about what I want.”
My free hand balls into a fist. “Tell Tony to go fuck himself.”
“I’ll pass along the message.” He tilts his head to study me. “But I have one for the Rockfords. Tell them to back off, or Tony starts going after their mates.”
The words steal my breath. Micah. Tony’s people had already tried once with Micah. And the threat now extends to other Omegas under their protection.
“That’s not a message,” I snarl, shoving him harder, “it’s a death wish.”
“It’s business.” Darrow remains calm in the face of my fury. “Your friend Micah got lucky last time. Travis underestimated him. The next attempt won’t be so… amateur.”
Bile rises, and my vision narrows to a pinpoint. “I’ll kill you before you get near him.”
Darrow tilts his head. “I’m not the one you need to worry about. Tony has people everywhere.”
He tracks movement past my shoulder. “Even in places you think are safe.”
“Saint!” Gabriel’s warning shout cuts through the fog of my rage, and I spin to search for danger.
The half-second of distraction costs me. Darrow twists beneath my grip and breaks my hold on his collar. His elbow connects with my solar plexus, the strike landing with enough force to drive the air from my lungs.
As I stagger back a step, he moves, slipping into the crowd.
“Security! Stop!” Rox’s voice carries over the music as she pushes toward us, Marcus at her heels.
I lunge after Darrow, but people close around him, their bodies becoming unintentional shields as the crowd reacts to the disturbance.
Gabriel’s hand catches my arm, his grip firm enough to check my momentum. “You won’t find him. People like Darrow always have an exit strategy.”
“Dammit!” I punch the bar, and pain flares as my knuckles split.
Marcus reaches us, his large frame filling my view. “What the hell, Saint?”
“Guy was harassing patrons,” I lie, the words automatic. “Taking unauthorized photos.”
Marcus frowns, not buying it. “Since when do you handle that by almost starting a brawl?”
“It’s my fault,” Gabriel interjects, hand still on my arm. “He was photographing me. Saint was concerned.”
The explanation does nothing to ease Marcus’s suspicion. “We have procedures for removing people. Physical escalation is a last resort.”
“It won’t happen again,” I mutter, scanning the crowd one last time for Darrow and finding nothing.
Rox joins us, and the look she gives me tightens my gut. “Boss wants to see you. Now.”
