“Get in the truck, Dee.”
“No. I’ll call a cab.”
“Get. In. The. Fucking. Truck. Deanna.”
This time, the tiny blond manages to duck under his raised arm. Before she gets a foot away, he grabs her by the hair and tugs her back to where she was standing before.
Motherfucker…“Hey.” I stalk over, pissed my quiet night has been interrupted by a piece-of-shit woman beater. “Let her go.”
Jordan spins around, a scowl on his ugly mug. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who do you want me to be?” I edge closer, inches away from both of them. I turn my attention to the girl, she’s crying and trembling. “You okay?”
She nods.
“Here.” I hand her a twenty. “Go back inside the bar and tell Martin to set you up with a couple drinks and a room. I’ll settle up with him in the AM.”
She doesn’t move—only stares at me unbelieving.
“Take the money, sweetheart,” I say gently.
“Don’t walk away from me, Dee.”
Short on patience, I grab Jordan by the throat. “Did she ask for your opinion?”
He starts to struggle in my grasp, but I pinch his throat tighter. He’s the stereotypical redneck, wearing a dark colored T-shirt and dirty jeans, a cowboy hat, and boots. Why would a girl as pretty as Dee date a sonofabitch like him? I shake my head. “Go on, Dee.”
“T-thank you,” she whispers. “I-I don’t even know your name.” She gazes at my patches on the front of my vest.
“Brick.”
“What if I want to find you?”
“The clubhouse is in Shreveport,” I say. “Ever need anything, reach out.”
She hurries away, never looking back.
Jordan tries to break free to stop her, but I whirl him around and slam him against the truck. “You don’t want to do that.”
His eyes go wide with understanding and I let him go. “Do you know who I am now?” He couldn’t miss my patches, there’s streetlights everywhere around the bar and motel.
Straightening his shirt, he opens his mouth to say something.
“Think before you speak,” I warn, cracking my knuckles, ready to take the asshole down if I have to.
“She’s my fiancé,” he says. “I don’t want her…”
“You lost any right to tell her what to do the minute you laid violent hands on her. The best thing you can do is climb in that Chevy and go home. If Dee isn’t here and safe in the morning, I know where to find you, Jordan.” I gesture to the company logo on his truck, Aces High Landscaping.
Gaze shooting to the bar, he stares at it for a long time, then looks at me again. “When did the Iron Norsemen start interfering with people’s personal lives?”
“The minute I rolled into town,” I say.
He swallows hard and fishes his keys out of his front pocket. On a huff, he walks around to the driver’s side of his truck and gets in. I step back a few feet and watch as he revs the engine, backs out of his parking space, and screeches out of the lot, speeding down the road.
