Page 17 of Sins of a King
“Come on, sugar,” he nearly whined. “He doesn’t have to know. I can show you a good time.”
And then his hand settled on my ass. His friends continued to laugh. Before I even had a chance to move, Flynn was next to me, removing the man’s hand for him. Only he didn’t drop it. Instead, he bent the man’s fingers back, making him yelp in surprised pain.
“The Rex isn’t that kind of place.” Flynn growled, looming like a dark avenging shadow. His face was menacing with rage, and I was glad it wasn’t directed at me.
The man’s friends had gone silent, their glassy eyes clearing just a bit.
“Apologize to the lady,” Flynn commanded. The man paused, causing Flynn to yank back his fingers. “Apologize. Or I start breaking things.”
My heart began to hammer in my ears, and I waited.
“I’m sorry,” the man wheezed out. “I’m sorry I put my hands on you.”
Flynn tightened his grip one final time before releasing the inebriated guest. “Get out. You and your friends.”
The group of men didn’t argue and all but scurried from the busy club. Flynn’s gaze followed them until he was sure they were gone.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice trembling with ire.
“Fine. Thank you.”
With a clipped nod, he turned and strode away from me.
“What the hell was that about?” Chelsea demanded, coming to my side, carrying an empty tray.
“You saw that?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“A guest touched my ass. Mr. Campbell was…handling it.”
Chelsea looked at me, brown eyes speculative. “The last guest to touch my ass was thrown out by security.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Mr. Campbell usually lets his security team handle issues. He doesn’t get involved. Until now.”
“Huh,” I said, finally turning away so she wouldn’t see my cheeks blush despite the dim lighting.
“Huh, indeed. Bossman has the hots for you.”
“No,” I vehemently denied.
“And you clearly have the hots for him, too.”
“Chelsea,” I hissed.
She smiled, sauntering away.
Damn it.
Chapter 6
I finished my shift and then left. Or tried to. When I was near the exit, a brutish man in a suit resembling an aging linebacker caught my elbow and said, “Mr. Campbell would like to see you.”
Nodding, I let the man lead me into the lobby of The Rex to the private elevator. “Brad Shapiro,” he said, holding out his hand. “Head of security.”
“Barrett Schaefer.” I dropped my hand, and the elevator began its ascent.
