He snorts out a laugh just as Caroline returns. Her tray is laden with a couple of fragrant burgers and a row of brimming little glasses. I snatch up two of them and drain each in quick succession, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. If GQ has anything to say about it, he keeps it to himself.
But Jesus…fuck! The hard liquor reaches my empty stomach, and the burn of the alcohol hits me like a motherfucking sledgehammer. Why the hell did I do that to myself?
Because you just escaped a human trafficking ring, girl. Have a freaking drink!
“You good?” he asks. I choke but give a thumbs up, not looking at him as I reach for the burger in front of me and climb into it like a rabid animal. We eat in silence, with him watching me as I shovel greasy chips down my throat. When Caroline cruises by, I raise a hand and point at the empty glasses. She returns with another three tequilas and a big glass of water for me.
Good girl. I think I like her after all.
“So what’s your name, anyhow?” he asks, cutting into his burger with a knife and fork. Like a freaking psychopath.
“What’s it to you?” I say around a mouthful of food. He shrugs.
“Buttercup it is, then,” he smirks.
“Wanker,” I mutter. The booze must be going to my head because I’m feeling a little woozy. And suddenly, he doesn’t seem like such an asshole anymore. In fact, when he pushes his empty plate aside and rises abruptly, I’m alarmed at the thought of him leaving.
“Be back in a minute,” he says. “Men’s room must be round back.” I shrug, trying to hide the fact that I want to leap up to go with him. In fact, I almost do as I watch him leave the room.
Get a grip, Em. You’ve got PTSD or something.
“Hey, sweetness,” a voice breaks into my thoughts, making me jump slightly. I jerk my attention to where a pair of rough-looking guys hover near the other edge of the booth. “Nice to see you got rid of Pretty Boy, there. Making room for some real men?”
I stare at him, speechless for a second. The other one slides a pair of sloshing beer glasses across the table.
“What?”
The guy sinks into the booth beside me while the second guy takes GQ’s spot across the table.
“What’s a sweet little thing like you doing in town? I’m pretty sure you’re new here, huh?”
“Fuck off!” I snap. Who are these fucking guys?
“Now, that’s no way to speak to someone who’s just trying to make you feel at home…” The guy next to me looks down at my cleavage and leers. I shove his shoulder.
“Get lost. I’m waiting for someone.”
“I don’t think so.” He lifts his hand and traces the neckline of my dress.
As. If!
I slap his hand away, but he grabs my wrist sharply and twists it. Seriously? Again with the manhandling? This country is insane!
“Let me go,” I snarl beneath my breath.
“Make me,” he whispers back. He’s so close I can feel his boozy breath on my face.
“The lady told you to leave.”
Both guys snap their heads around. GQ is looming over the table. There’s something dangerous in those frost-gray eyes. Okay, definitely not a sweet spoiled rich boy.
The guy beside me lunges up at him, and I don’t even get a chance to make a sound before he’s flying through the air.
Lawd, that was quick!
The other guy is on his feet, preparing his own attack, when he stops abruptly. There’s a steak knife prodding up beneath his chin. GQ flexes his wrist, and a tiny drop of blood swells and then drips.
“Go. Now,” is all he says. The slime bucket makes a squeaking sound and scrambles to get out from the booth as he’s released. He bolts to his friend, who is still slumped near the bar. GQ turns his eyes to me. The whole episode took barely a minute. Holy shit! Has he got rattlesnake wired into his DNA? “We’re leaving,” he snaps at me.
