Fury. Pure unfiltered fury flooded my system.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone so much after only having spoken to them for a mere sixty seconds.
Who the hell did he think he was?
Before I could think, I snapped. My words shot out without a thought.
“You’re a rude, disrespectful, fuckingasshole!” My eyes pinned him like freshly sharpened darts. “I’m not a prostitute, you twat! Though, it sounds like you were slighted by one and now have some vendetta.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Have they refused you services? Did your winning personality become so fucking unbearable that it wasn’t worth the torture of your paid company? You must be really fucking lovable to be around.”
My chest was rising and falling with my hammering heart. I refused to let him intimidate me. But then?—
A flash of some raw emotion shadowed his face. Then it was gone.
It seemed like the air around us darkened as he slowly stepped one foot toward me. He closed the already minimal space between us. Absolute hatred painted his face.
Sharp eyes bore into mine as he raised a hand to my face.
I flinched.
He didn’t miss it, his eyes soften as he hesitated for a millisecond, before gently dragging his knuckles down my cheek in a caress. Eyes fixed on my lips.
My heart was racing even faster now, but for another reason entirely.
For the love of god, what was happening?
Voice dark, he whispered into my ear, “How much for the night?”
My eyes nearly fluttered closed from the warm tickle of his breath against my neck.
W—What? What did he—?Consciousness slammed back into my body.
Oh for fuck’s sake!
Smack!
I belligerently whacked his hand away and slapped him straight across the face. The sound was beyond satisfying.
“Don’t youevertouch me!” My throat tightened at the force of my words.
His cheek began to redden, twitching up.
A familiar commanding voice shot through the air like a bullet.
“Oi! Get ya fucking mitts off her!”
Suited like a businessman in a sharp tweed suit, but built like a boxer, the ginger-bearded brute strolled up to us, dragging a hand through his short red hair.
Lochlainn.
4
CARWYNN
Lochlainn’s voicewas ice as he pulled back one side of his suit jacket, exposing a gold pistol.
“Is there a problem here?”
Nearby patrons wandered toward us, drawn to the commotion.
