Page 40 of Pour Decisions
Delia shook her head. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself! We’re partners, remember?”
“Not in this business we’re not!”
“I don’t care.”
I laced my fingers through hers, shifting her slightly in front of me, trying my best to shield her from the worst of the sharp elbows finding their way into my own back and sides. Hugo and other members of my staff ran interference around us. “I’m not by myself,” I said, my lips pressed to the shell of her ear so I didn’t have to shout. “I have my security team.”
“Yeah, and they’re doing a great job,” she said, her sarcasm punctuated by glass shattering nearby.
And, okay, she wasn’t wrong. The crowd pushed and shoved against me and the four hulking men, two of whom were former offensive linemen who had protected my ass for much of my ten years in Detroit.
I’d found myself in a few of these situations since opening the club, but tonight felt different. There was a malice in the air I hadn’t experienced before, and the hair at the nape of my neck stood on end. I’d spent so many years allowinggrown men to throw their bodies at me, had suffered enough scrapes and bruises—in addition to a few concussions and broken bones, saying nothing of my career-ending injury—that nothing really phased me anymore.
But tonight? I was scared.
Not for myself. I was big, heavy, and strong. I could take care of myself.
No, I was worried for Delia.
“Will you please just go?” I wasn’t above begging, and if I could’ve got down on my knees amidst the crush of bodies, I would have.
Delia vigorously shook her head, slamming into my body as someone pushed her from behind. Her eyes were steely, defiant, as she said, “No. I’m staying here with you.”
Why was she so goddamn stubborn? Why wouldn’t she just leave and let me handle this myself?
A trainwreck was approaching, and it seemed no matter what I said, we’d both be here to greet it.
I saw the collision a breath before it happened.
A man lifted a bottle, clearly intent on breaking it over Hugo’s head with the man’s back turned to him like a goddamn coward. I wasn’t close enough, not without shoving Delia out of the way, and I refused to throw her to the wolves like that. But she must’ve seen my gaze widen, because she turned to find what I stared at. Quick as lightning, her hand snatched out, her fingers circling the man’s wrist. The strength in those slender arms surprised me as she held him off, even as the caveman in my chest roared at me to come to her rescue.
The man with the bottle whirled on her, other arm raised, fistclenched as though preparing to drive it into the center of her face. Before I could move, though, one look at her beauty had him grinning, slowly and slyly, both arms lowering. Two seconds flat and she had him fully entranced.
I knew the feeling.
“Helloooooooo, gorgeous,” the man slurred.
I groaned. Whoever was bartending tonight was getting a severe reprimand for not cutting him off before this shit started.
“Put the bottle down,” Delia said firmly.
“Or what?”
Seemingly out of nowhere, the younger Delatous sisters appeared at her back, and Ella held Delia’s phone out to her.
After a few taps of the screen, Delia began recording, holding the camera right in the man’s face.
“Or I’ll blast this video of your face all over social media and get you blacklisted from every club and bar in this entire fucking country.”
The man sneered. “You don’t have that kind of pull.”
Delia stepped closer, a feline grin on her face. “Try me.”
“I’d listen to her if I was you,” I said, and the man’s eyes widened as he took me in.
“Owen!” the man yelped like we were old friends. “I just wanted to say hi and get an autograph.”
“Hi,” I deadpanned in response. “What’s your name?”
