The thought hits my chest like a wrecking ball. It takes me three deep breaths and a lot of staring at her to get my composure back in place.
Yes,gorgeoussuits Bianca perfectly. There’s an innocence about her features. Full lips, big honey-colored eyes, freckles peppering the apples of her cheeks, dips and curves everywhere I’d want them.
She’s short, too. Fucking jackpot.
I never paid attention to height. Not until I saw taller-than-a-tree Carter with petite Hailey beside him.
Now, short girls are my downfall. There’s something thrilling about a height difference. Something downright primal about hiding a girl in my arms and keeping her safe.
The cab driver fetches her suitcase from the trunk, his long, calloused fingers grasping the handle. Bianca pulls a few twenties from her pocket, passing them over without counting. The guy does, licking those calloused fingers as he separates the bills. Before he’s finished counting, she’s dragging the suitcase behind her, rushing towardme.
Well, aiming at the main doors, but I’m in the way.
“That’s not enough,” the driver says, looking up to where Bianca stood. She’s not there anymore, her steps fast, not far off running. “Hey!” he yells, following suit. “Get back here! You owe me another twenty!”
Her ashen complexion gives way to ghost-like paleness, eyes scanning the space between her and the bouncer guarding the entrance. There’s less than ten feet between us now and my pulse slams into overdrive when she meets my gaze.
“Shit,” she breathes, scanning the line of people waiting to get in, every muscle in her body rigid.
She’s closing in on me fast and I’m still locked on the spot, shock gunning through me because she’shere.
Why? What made her come here of all places? Why did she leave Vaughn? Why did she cry? What the—?
My mental gears grind to a halt when the cab driver lunges forward and grips Bianca’s upper arm, yanking her back.
Her eyes widen, fear mixing with shock. My eyes widen too, but not in fear. They widen because a protective, fucking possessive lightning bolt scorches through my veins.
The cab driver’s hold on Bianca grows firmer and, along with it, the need to break his hand grows within me.
He digs his fingertips into her soft flesh.
His nails whiten.
And I see red.
“Let her go,” I snap, taking a threatening step his way, my hand brushing the holster at my side in some freakish, newly acquired reflex. “Now.”
He looks at me, eyes clashing with my chest. He must’ve expected we’re the same height. We’re not. Not even close. He cranes his neck, bravado faltering.
“She owes me money.” His tone is calmer, less snappy.
I pull a fifty out of my back pocket, holding it between two fingers. He reaches for the bill, but I snatch it back.
“Not so fast.” I wave the fifty in his face, taking another step forward to tower over the asshole. “This is yours today.Butif there’s a single bruise on her tomorrow, I’ll find you. Mark my words. I’ll break your fingers one by one.”
He scans my face, scrutinizes my chest, and catches the way my fingers graze the holster of my gun sitting under my jacket.
Recognition floods his features. He stumbles back, dropping Bianca’s arm. Her face falls, fear and shock giving way to drawn eyebrows and a curious head tilt. She scrutinizes me whole, as she absentmindedly curls her fingers around her arm, massaging soothing circles over the spot the driver held.
It’s a small gesture, but powerful enough that the man quakes in his boots. She’s in pain and that doesn’t bode well for him.
He might not knowmyname but he knows who ownsScarlett. Everyone does. And everyone also knows that guys with guns standing outside the club shouldn’t be disrespected and neither should the girls those guys protect.
“Keep it,” he stammers, backing away. He doesn’t immediately turn, as if he’s afraid I’ll shoot him in the back the second he spins on the heel of his worn shoe.
It’s plausible. I haven’t yet decided if letting him off is a wise choice. Anger coils around my insides, his fingers digging into Bianca’s arm at the forefront of my mind. The scene replays whenever I blink, testing my resolve to let the man walk.
In the end, rational thinking helps tame the violent streak awakened by the possibility of bruises blooming over her sun-kissed skin.
