Page 5 of Switch

I let out a small laugh, unsure how to respond.“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,”he says, nodding like it’s obvious.“I mean, I’ve got a good job, a nice truck, and my family’s got a solid reputation in town. Amelia probably told you all that, though.”

I keep my tone neutral.“She said you’re a nice guy.”

Mike chuckles.“Nice guy.”He shakes his head like it’s amusing.“Yeah, I guess. But don’t let that fool you—I know how to have a good time.”

I force another smile, clutching my purse a little tighter in my lap.

Maybe it’s just nerves.

Or maybe it’s something else.

By the time we pull into the parking lot of the carnival, my excitement has dwindled to cautious apprehension. The colorful lights of the Ferris wheel twinkle in the darkening sky, and the scent of popcorn and fried dough wafts through the air as we step out of the truck.

“This’ll be fun,” Mike says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders before I can stop him. I stiffen under the weight of his touch but don’t say anything as we head toward the entrance.

The carnival is everything I remember from years past—bright, loud, and filled with laughter. For a moment, I forget my discomfort and feel a flicker of hope. Maybe I can salvage the night, but that hope fades fast.

The first thing Mike does is make a beeline for the beer stand. He orders two tall cups, handing one to me.

“Um, thanks,” I say, taking it.

He nods, downing half of his in one gulp.

We wander through the carnival, Mike talking nonstop about himself. He doesn’t ask me any questions, not about my work, my family, or even my favorite color. It’s like he’s auditioning for a one-man show, and I’m the unwilling audience.

By his third beer, his speech is slurring, and he starts getting handsy. His arm over my shoulders, pulling me in close before trailing his hand down my back straight to my ass. I step to the side, putting some space between us.

“Mike, can you not?” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

“What’s the problem?” he asks, his grin slipping into a frown.

“The problem is I don’t like being touched like that,” I reply, firm but polite.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, stepping closer.

I move away again, my patience thinning. “I said no.”

His expression darkens, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that makes my pulse spike.

“Don’t tell me no,” he growls, grabbing my wrist.

“Let go of me,” I say, my voice shaking.

Just as I’m about to pull away, someone grabs his arm and yanks him backward.

“Get your hands off her,” a deep voice says.

I look up and see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing between us. He’s wearing a leather vest with patches on it, his expression calm but deadly serious.

Mike stumbles back, glaring. “Who the hell are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the man says. “What matters is you don’t lay a hand on her again.”

Before Mike can respond, two more men in leather vests appear, grabbing him by the arms.

“Time to go,” one of them says, dragging him backward.

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