“Another mojito.” The bartender slid the glass across the counter.
“Oh, but I’m still working…” I trailed off, noting I had sipped it down to nothing. I lifted my eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”
I snatched up the glass and, raising it to my lips, downed it in one gulp.
“Wow, you must be thirsty,” he remarked, smiling as he began mixing another cocktail.
“No more for me,” I told him quickly. Mojitos were somewhat watered down thanks to how much ice went in the glass, but I couldn’t risk getting drunk while alone. I had enough sense to know better. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house."
I arched an eyebrow, then dug into my purse and pulled out a few notes. I placed them on the counter and said, “That’s nice of you, but no.”
“I insist.”
I shook my head.
“My husband’s going to be here soon,” I said, causing his expression to fall instantly. “He’ll think I led you on, and he’s quite possessive, so it’s best I pay for my own drinks.”
His expression instantly changed to that of caution, his eyes scanning behind me. Smart bartender.
“Here I am, love,” a new voice interjected. “Your husband, in the flesh.”
What. The. Actual. Hell?
I glanced to the side to find a man with a thick waistline leaning against the bar, leering at me with invisible drool on his mouth. He was of medium height with a wide, almost nonexistent neck.
Oh, hell no.
Our eyes met and he winked.
I stiffened while the bartender rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry, burrê. I didn’t know she was married.”
“He’s definitely not my husband,” I spat, putting twenty euros on the bar, then drew myself to my full height, tucking my handbag. “Goodbye.”
I sidestepped to pass him, the hair on the nape of my neck rising in warning.
“Leaving so soon?” he slurred, grabbing my wrist with his big, sweaty hand. “Don’t be rude, I haven’t finished talking to you, I?—”
“Let go of me!” I tugged myself free from his grasp, my heart in my throat. “Myrealhusband is nearby and he’ll kick your ass if he sees you touching me.”
His features twisted, the easy confidence on his face snapping into something sharp and ugly, and he lunged for me again. I didn’t think. I reacted and drove my knee up hard, burying it where instinct told me the most damage would be done. The impact jarred my leg.
He cried out—a raw, strangled sound that cut through the air.
I stumbled back, the taste of adrenaline bitter on my tongue.
He doubled over, one hand clutching himself as if he could hold the pain in place, but the other shot out and tangled in my hair. My scalp burned as he yanked, dragging my head back.
“You bitch,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I’m a man. Head of my family. You don’t get to do that to me.”
For a split second, disbelief cut through the fear.Talk about Neanderthal manners. And to think I’d been having such a great time so far.
My mind scrambled, searching for my next move, but my body lagged behind. My feet felt glued to the floor, legs trembling, every nerve buzzing too loud to think straight. I twisted, trying to break his grip, the pull on my scalp sending sharp flashes of pain down my neck.
Before I could act, a familiar voice pierced the air.
“That’s enough.”
