Page 20 of Hooked

Shouldering in, I take up as much space as possible to allow them to slide off the barstools and slip into their coats without bumping into one of the desperate men. Clearly I haven’t made any friends, but obviously I don’t care. Moving in behind the women, we make our way to the front. If looks could kill, I’d be in the sewer system with Taco’s predecessor, Filet, who was given respectful burial-at-sea via the toilet not so long ago.

We’re almost near the exit when a sloppy drunk grabs Sia’s arm.

“Stop.” She swats at him. He releases her arm and grabs her hand instead. She hisses in pain.

Kristi is ahead of Sia and hadn’t noticed the grab, or this dude would be dead before I got there.

But it’s my lucky day.

My hand wraps around his wrist before he realizes what’s happening. I know all about pressure points and squeeze until he releases Sia and sinks to his knees.

“We don’t grab women,” I say, calmly. “We don’t grab anyone, but we certainly don’t grab women.”

“Let me go, man,” he pleads. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your girl.”

“That’s irrelevant.” I didn’t need to clarify anything with this asshole. Let him think she’s with me if it offers her any kind of protection.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt my ego any for people to think that the hottest woman in the bar is mine.

“You shouldn’t grab women whether they have boyfriends or not,” I continue my lecture. Mostly because watching this dude squirm is satisfying. “Now will you do that again?”

“No. Oh god, please let me go. You’re breaking my wrist.”

“I’m not,” I say flatly. “But you didn’t seem concerned when you grabbed her. I’m just saying that maybe you should hold yourself to the same standards you hold others.” When I do let him go, it’s mostly because I can sense that Sia wants to get out, and now.

He grabs his wrist and scurries away. I wrap my arm around Sia, helping her through the maze of people. She presses into me, and it feels great.

When we get outside, I move my arm away, but she stays huddled against me.

“Where’d you go?” Kristi asks. “I looked away for a minute and you weren’t behind me.”

“Sorry,” Sia says, hugging herself. She’s clearly embarrassed, even though nothing that happened was her fault.

“Some dude got too familiar with Sia and we had to have a conversation. He’s lucky you didn’t see it go down.” That’s not lip service either.

“Are you serious?” Kristi asks. “Jesus Christ, the gall of some of these dudes. Ugly-ass motherfuckers who cheat on their wives, who deserve much better I might add, and then think they can measure up with her? No.”

Sia’s shivering. I need to be careful here. But I drape my arm around her shoulder again. Too bad Sven isn’t watching.

“Where are you parked?”

We walk Kristi to her car, and once she’s taken off safely, Sia and I walk back to the house. I struggle to slow my pace. She’s so much shorter than I am, even with those incredible boots.

She rambles on through chattering teeth, nervously trying to fill the space. Some people can’t handle silence.

But she’s been through a lot the past two days, so I don’t interrupt. She goes on about her cousins, and how because of who they are, when she was a teenager guys would either avoid her out of fear or be a dick to her to prove some macho bullshit point.

“Nothing more appealing than cowardice,” I say derisively.

I haven’t said much since we left, so she pauses.

“Did you get into a lot of fights?” She’s looking at my nose.

Apparently I’m not the only one who’s observant. I’m not ashamed of my past, but when I talk about it, people decide who I am from that alone. I’m not some sad sack victim, and I won’t put up with pity. Usually I say nothing or try to make it so uncomfortable that the conversation stops.

I’ll go with tactic two here.

“One of my foster fathers. He was drunk. Hitting his wife. I intervened. I was twelve and I haven’t lost a fight since.” I tell it like a joke.

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