Page 21 of Her Guardian
Maybe I’ve been paying attention to her longer than I’d like to admit. I’ve even watched her count cards in Massimo’s casino. The way her eyes light up right before she reveals her winning hand—mesmerizing.
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Sarah asks apprehensively.
“I might,” I answer truthfully, then step out of the elevator as soon as the doors open.
I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I rarely do this sort of thing unless there’s a direct order from the boss. I’m kicking a hole in the side of one of my boundaries. I don’t go looking for trouble. But when it finds me—or when it finds a girl with pretty blue eyes… I get a little irrational.
Sarah tries to keep up as I stomp through the lobby of Salvalagio. Rowan notices me and starts to say something, but I blow right past him so fast his kilt catches the wind.
As soon as I get to my SUV, I yank the passenger door open and walk around to the other side. Sarah gets in faster than I do, but I don’t even bother with my seatbelt before I peel out of the parking lot. I hit a curb on the way out, then dodge cars as I drive down the strip.
“Right up there,” Sarah whispers.
“I know.” I yank the wheel toward the parking lot with so much force it slings her against her door. “Sorry.”
I drive straight up to the front door, hit the brakes, and screech out a line of tire marks. I put the SUV in park and leave the engine running when I get out. The bar isn’t open yet, but there’s someone inside. I see two cars in the parking lot.
The doors are locked, so I take a step back and open them with my boot. The right door flies open. All the glass shatters on the left one, and it bends, but the bolt keeps it from caving in.
I push my way into the bar and look around. Two guys come running out of the back and try to turn around as soon as they see me. I’m on them before they have a chance. I grab them both by the back of the neck, spin them around, and throw them on the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of them.
“Was it either of them?” I growl, slamming a boot on the back of the first employee so he lifts his head.
“No!” Sarah squeaks out. “It wasn’t them!”
I hold the first guy down and yank his friend back to his feet. My hand closes around his throat and I lift him until we’re eye level, which leaves his toes dangling in the air.
“Someone who works here tried to roofie my friend,” I snarl. “Who works late, around closing time, and likes to take advantage of pretty girls?”
“I don’t know!” the guy gasps through his clutched throat, his face turning red. He tries to kick at me, but it doesn’t budge my frame.
“Wrong answer.” I tighten my grip on his throat. “Think harder.”
“I really d-don’t know, man!” he chokes.
“It was Bill Clark!” the guy below me yells. “Bill! He works late! He always tried to pick up girls right before closing!”
“And if they aren’t interested, he puts something in their drink?” I question, grinding my boot into the guy’s back.
“I don’t know! I-I mean, I know he bought something from one of the guys who comes in here, but I don’t know if he actually used it!” he squeals.
“Which one of you would like to go into the back and get Bill’s address for me?” I ask, lowering the guy I’m holding until his feet touch the floor and he can breathe. “If you try to call the cops, there won’t be anything left of you when they get here.”
“I-I’ll do it!” the guy I’m holding gasps.
I hurl him toward the back room, but keep my boot on the one under me. I lighten my foot, because he was forthcoming with information. That allows him to breathe a little easier.
The other employee returns with the address. It’s hastily written on a torn piece of paper and the hand that offers it is trembling so much I have to snatch the paper out of it.
“Don’t let people do that shit, boys,” I say, removing my boot from the back of the one I’m holding down. “What if it was your sister, hmm? Would you be okay with it? I bet one of you has a sister, right?”
I stare them down with a cold glare as the one on his feet nods. His friend shakily stands up beside him.
“Y-yeah,” he says.
“How old is she?” I lean toward him, my jaw tightening.
“Sixteen,” he whispers.
