Page 17

Damn, he’s badass.

He drops the troublemakers like they’re no match for him whatsoever, and instead of feeling scared, I find myself impressed and even a little turned on.

Suddenly, I’m bumped into the wall, and as randoms join in the fight, everything spirals out of control.

As if it’s happening in slow motion, I worry about Owen as more men lunge at him, but when he easily knocks them out, my eyebrows lift.

A bottle is smashed against the wall, inches from my head, and I let out a startled shriek. Before the guy can start using it as a weapon, Owen slams the man’s arm into the wall while elbowing him right in the nose.

This all happens mere inches from me, giving me an incredibly up close and personal view of Owen in action. I swear I can feel the danger emanating from him.

But it all happens so quickly, I barely have time to gasp, and pins and needles spread over my skin.

The broken bottle drops to the floor, and just as Owen’s eyes flick to mine, his hand flies up to my face, and when I don’t flinch as he stops another guy’s fist mere inches from connecting with me, I realize I trust Owen.

Air bursts from my lungs, and then everything speeds up again, and all I hear are shouts and groans, fists hitting skin, and women shrieking.

Someone pulls a gun, and I let out another panicked shriek, my stomach dropping. It draws Owen’s attention, and when he sees the weapon, he disarms the man in a flash, and somehow the gun falls in pieces to the floor.

Holy Shit!!!!

“Owen!” I hear Miles shout as he pushes his way through the chaotic mess.

When he grabs our badass bartender’s arm and Owen spins around, I worry he might hurt Miles.

Miles quickly holds up his hand, and when Owen takes a threatening step toward him, our boss snaps, “Owen Casey!”

I don’t know how, but it’s like a switch is flipped in Owen. Even though his body remains tense and ready for action, his right fist slick with someone else’s blood, the violence drains from him until he looks much calmer than I feel.

Miles turns toward the other people, and his voice cuts through the noise, “Everyone out! Now. Drinks down and move!”

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up because it feels like Miles is clearing out the bar to keep everyone safe.

From Owen.

It’s only then that I begin to feel rattled by everything that just went down in front of me. Owen could’ve gotten seriously hurt, but luckily, he didn’t.

I glance at some of the men who are dragging their beaten asses up off the floor and stumbling out of the bar.

My eyes dart between Miles and Owen, and I notice how my boss keeps one hand up, indicating for Owen to stand still.

Owen, on the other hand, just keeps staring at Miles, the dead look gone from his eyes and replaced with something akin to edgy annoyance.

Realizing I have to help, I begin to herd the patrons toward the door. Their voices are loud, someone grumbles a complaint, and another curses a blue streak while a woman sniffles.

Suddenly, something slams into my glasses, and before I can react, they snap in half and fall from my face.

My vision instantly blurs, and everything around me turns soft and looks like smeared colors and shadows, shapes without edges.

I begin blinking, not that it will help. Long hair whips across my face, and I’m shoved again.

When strong fingers close around my arm, I flinch, my entire body jerking with fright. Before I can ask the person to let go of me, I’m hauled against a solid chest.

Clean soap and warm skin.

Owen.

His breaths are even, and where I’m trembling, his touch is steady.