“Hi, Barry. Is there a reason you are dragging these two beautiful women with you?” Kieran asked.
Barry, dressed in a fitted beige suit, smiled broadly. “Kip Brennan, these are your tenants, Harper and Chantal.”
“Wait, you called him Mr. Pincher?” Chantal said.
All the men at the table laughed, except Kip. When he spit out a mouthful of champagne, Harper dove to his side. “Please breathe.”
“Sweetheart, I’m fine. Barry, who told them about Mr. Pincher?” Kip’s brow arched.
“I believe Mr. Carpenter said to protect your identity.” Barry chuckled.
Kip continued to look at the pictures of his new home Barry had in his phone. “Ladies, I assume you like living in the two-bedroom guest house?”
“Mr. Carpenter said you wouldn’t want to evict us,” Harper whispered.
Kip rolled his eyes. “That was the hypothetical conversation I had with Julian in San Diego. Except we were talking about kittens. No, sweetheart, I’m not evicting you.”
* * *
LeavingChantal to take their dessert order, Harper moved to take care of her other tables. The rowdy men grew more vulgar. Even worse, they made a mess of their uneaten food on the table. Harper held back the busgirl to protect her. She wanted to put on a biohazard suit to clear the dishes.
Kip had left the table to head to the restroom. Returning, he overheard one of the men ask Harper to make his time go better and sit on his lap. Harper refused, and the man roughly grabbed her wrist.
“Let go of the lady,” Kip demanded.
“Who the hell are you?” he growled, pulling Harper closer to him.
“Please let me go,” she asked, still polite, but with a touch of fear in her voice.
Moises and Chantal both moved to help, and the group of men grew more unruly. “I’ve called the police. We’d like you to leave,” Chantal said.
“What are going to do, princess?” One man stood in front of Chantal, raising his hands.
Moises slipped in front of her, and the man shoved him. Moises disengaged from the man’s grip to protect Chantal. Now the rest of the group rose, alcohol boosting their bravado and their fists.
Kip looked at Kieran and shrugged.
“Hunt, you, Barry and Owen, step back,” Kieran whispered and circled his hand in the air.
As soon as they were clear, Kip closed distance on Harper and grabbed the wrist of the man holding hers. “Let go of the lady,” he repeated.
Not only did the man refuse, but two of his friends tried to flank Kip. Kyle, Rich, Bruce and Kieran, as well as the three-men security team, surrounded the group, arms crossed. “I’ll ask one more time,” Kip’s voice was firm.
The man imitated Kip in a derogatory tone, “I’ll ask one more time,” then he sneered, “You may wrinkle that suit.”
When the man kicked at him, Kip adjusted his grip and fractured the man’s wrist, dropping him to his knees. Crying out like a newborn, the man let go. Kip swept Harper behind him and backed her to safety.
Another of the men headed toward Chantal. Kyle swept her into his arms, allowing his back to take the blow. Kip growled, and with Bruce’s help, they laid that man flat on the ground. The head of the drunken group subdued, the rest of the miserable men surrendered and were secured by the two Bravo Team members.
Kip turned to check out Harper. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” He ran his hands over her visibly bruised wrist. “Hunt, is she okay? He is a doctor, I swear.”
“Thank you,” she took a breath, “I’m fine.”
“Miss Chantal,” Kyle said, worry in his tone, “let Dr. Montgomery look at you.”
A thin man with tousled dirty-brown hair and hazel eyes stood attentively beside Kip. Kip leaned into his side and whispered something. The man fled the room and returned with a medical bag.
“Harper, Chantal, this is Josh, my executive officer. Hunt, I’ve got a bag.”
