"Ooh, feisty." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my bare shoulder. "Soft, though. I bet you?—"
The front door explodes open. It slams against the interior wall with a crack like a gunshot. The entire tavern flinches. Absolute, terrified silence descends.
Shane stands in the doorway. A nightmare come to life.
He wears his cut—the leather vest with the patches marking him as Broken Halos’ Sgt. at Arms. He’s shirtless underneath, just the leather against his tattooed skin, his massive arms crossed,veins bulging like cords of steel. He blocks out the sun from how massive he is. His eyes are black pits of violence. He doesn't look at me. He looks at Kyle.
"Get your hand off her," Shane says. His voice rumbles like thunder vibrating the floorboards.
Kyle freezes. "Relax, Gunnar. We were just welcoming?—"
Shane moves too fast for a man his size. One second he’s in the doorway, the next he’s at our booth. His hand shoots out, wrapping around Kyle’s throat. He lifts the two-hundred-pound man off his feet as if he were made of straw. Kyle gags, clawing at Shane’s forearm. Shane slams him backward into a structural pillar. The wood groans.
"Daddy!" Maddie whimpers.
"Close your eyes, Mads," Shane commands, his voice dropping into a protective low rumble. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and a pair of noise-canceling earbuds. "Your favorite cartoon just dropped a new album, peanut. Put these in and enjoy their new song.” He waits until she’s settled and humming along, her world effectively silenced, before he leans in close to Kyle’s purple face.
"I'm going to say this once," Shane growls, the predator finally unleashed. "She is mine. Every inch of her, from her throat to the very bottom of her soaked pussy, belongs to me. She is the fucking property of the Sergeant at Arms, and I’m the only one who gets to bury my cock in her. You look at her, you lose your eyes. You touch her, and I will make sure you never draw a breath in this valley again. I’ll dismantle you in front of the whole town. Do you understand?"
Kyle wheezes and nods frantically. Shane holds him there, letting the terror marinate. Then he drops him. Kyle crumbles to the floor, gasping for air. Shane turns to the other two men. "Get him out of here. Before I forget that I have my daughter with me."
They scramble, dragging their fallen comrade out the door. The tavern remains silent. No one breathes. Shane turns to me. Violence rolls off him in waves. His chest heaves, sweat glistening on his collarbones.
"Get up," he says, his voice rough.
"Shane, I?—"
"Get up, Bianca." He grabs my upper arm. His grip is iron-hard. Possessive. Commanding. He pulls me out of the booth, then scoops Maddie up with his other arm. He marches us toward the door. As we pass the back corner booth, a massive, older man in a tailored suit watches us. He catches Shane’s eye and nods. Shane ignores him and kicks the tavern door open, shoving us out into the blinding sunlight.
He marches us to my yellow Beetle. He buckles Maddie into the back with shaking hands, then slams the door shut. He rounds on me, backing me against the passenger door. He cages me in, his hands slamming against the metal on either side of my head. He breathes hard, his scent overwhelming me—musk, adrenaline, and the copper tang of impending violence.
"I told you," he grits out. "I told you to stay safe."
"I was just getting lunch!" I argue, my own adrenaline spiking. "I didn't invite them over, Shane. They came to me."
"Because you were there!" he roars. I flinch. He freezes, seeing my body recoil. The rage fractures, revealing a deep, cavernous self-loathing. He pulls back as if burned.
"You're shaking," he says, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper.
"Shane, that was... you hurt him."
"He touched you," Shane says simply. "He put his hands on what belongs to me."
"Is that all I am?" I whisper. "Property? Something you mark territory on?"
He stares at me, his jaw working. "You saw what I am in there, Bianca. That is the reality. I break people."
"I know." I know he’s dangerous. But standing here, seeing the aftermath of his rage, the truth crashes into the fantasy. "It terrified me."
"Good," he snaps. "It should. You should be terrified. You should be running in the other direction."
"I'm not running."
He laughs, a dark, humorless sound. "You will. You're trembling just looking at me. You think you want this? You think you want to be the woman of a man who has to wash blood off his hands before he touches you?"
"Shane—"
"Get in the car," he orders, turning away. He straddles his bike, the engine roaring to life with a deafening growl. He doesn't look back. He tears out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks on the asphalt.
