Fierce Protector (Fierce Mafia #4)

Chapter 1

IVY

Yet another great dating tragedy. Story of my life.

I sat alone at the polished bar, condensation from my untouched rum and coke soaking into the cocktail napkin beneath it. Twenty minutes past eight. The bartender had given me that look three times already, the pitying one that said she knew I'd been stood up before I did.

I was half tempted to vent to her about the woes of men and modern dating.

"Another round?" she asked with a cheery smile.

"No, thanks." I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "I think I'm good."

Good. Right. What a joke. Here I was, in a bar waiting for a ghost.

I should've gone with Elena. She'd invited me to some girls' night thing with Meredith and Sofia involving wine.

It probably had fancy cheese I couldn't pronounce, the kind of evening where normal women did normal things.

But no, I'd declined because Harry the ghost from the dating app had seemed promising.

Great profile. Funny messages. Claimed to work in finance, whatever that meant.

Turned out it meant he was a flake. Stupid fucking men.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through our last conversation. His final message had been enthusiastic.

Can't wait to see you tonight!

Complete with an emoji that now felt like a personal insult. I'd even worn the black dress that made my ass and tits pop, had spent over an hour on my face and hair, and this steaming pile of shit called a man had left me in the lurch.

Pathetic.

Maybe another fine man here would be interested. Then again, Elena had always said finding your partner in a bar was never a good way. Joke was on her, that's where I found most of them.

The bass line from the bar's speakers thrummed through my chest as I debated my options.

Go home to my empty apartment and admit defeat?

Order another drink and pretend I'd come here alone on purpose?

Text Elena and ask if I could still make the girls' night?

She would never say no, but then that'd admit being stood up, and I was the kind of woman who got stood up.

Okay, maybe a few times.

I reached for my purse when I heard it, a voice that made my spine go rigid.

"Ivy? Holy shit, is that you?"

No. Oh hell fucking no.

Surely the universe couldn't be this cruel? I'd been thinking this night couldn't get worse, hadn't I? Apparently, fate took that as a personal challenge.

Perfect.

I turned slowly, already knowing what I'd find.

Jordan stood three feet away, that familiar smirk on his face like he'd just won something.

He looked the same as the day the prick told me he was screwing my co-worker.

His sandy hair gelled back, button-down shirt open one button too many, cologne applied with a heavy hand like he was masking skid marks from a week ago.

The kind of guy who thought he was God's gift and couldn't understand why women didn't agree.

"Fancy seeing you here," he continued, moving closer despite the foul look I was sure I had plastered on my face. "You look good, babe."

"Don't call me that." I kept my voice flat and uninterested. "And I'm waiting for someone."

A lie, but he didn't need to know that.

"Come on, don't be like that." He slid onto the stool beside me, too close. "I've been thinking about you. About us."

"There is no us." I shifted away, creating distance and considering calling Elena. "There hasn't been for five years."

How on earth was it my luck that this prick was in this bar on this night? Some cosmic force was laughing hard at me.

"I know, I know. I messed up." He reached for my hand, and I snatched it away. I could've sworn he almost smirked at that. "But I've changed, Ivy. I'm different now. Better."

I almost laughed. Men like Jordan didn't change, they just got better at hiding what they were. I'd learned that lesson the hard way, along with a few bruises that had taken weeks to fade.

"You miss the control," I said, meeting his eyes directly. "That's what you miss. But I'm not that girl anymore. Now leave me alone."

His expression shifted, that dangerous edge I remembered too well creeping into his features. Despite all the growing I'd done in the years since him, I still felt that spark of fear trying to ignite. But I was not about to give him that control again either.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm done with assholes who think they own me." I grabbed my purse, ready to leave. This night had officially become a disaster, and I wasn't sticking around for the encore. "Goodbye, Jordan. I hope I never see you again."

I moved to stand, but his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Tight. Too tight. The old me flashed to the surface, fear spiking hard, but I quelled it.

"Don't walk away from me," he growled, the nice-guy act dissolving like sugar in acid. "We're not finished."

"Let go of me, now," I hissed, rage slicing through me.

"Not until you listen—"

My palm connected with his cheek before he even finished. The slap echoed over the music, sharp and satisfying. Several nearby patrons turned to look, their conversations dying mid-sentence.

Good. This bastard deserved to be seen for the piece of shit he was.

Jordan's face went red, his grip on my wrist tightening until I felt bones grinding together. "You bitch."

He yanked, trying to pull me off the stool, toward the exit. I dug my heels in and tried to wrench free, but he'd always been stronger. Panic fluttered in my chest, the old fear trying to claw its way back up.

If the Donatis were here—

Then a tattooed hand landed on Jordan's shoulder.

"She said let go." The striking, deep voice tinged with an English accent had my stomach flip-flopping pathetically.

The voice was low, calm. Dangerous in its composure. A tone I'd once melted for.

Jordan's grip loosened just enough for me to pull free as he turned to face whoever had interrupted.

I looked up and felt my stomach drop.

Eric Hale.

Four years. It had been four years since I'd last seen him, and apparently time had only made him more infuriatingly attractive.

Dark hair, darker eyes, the kind of build that suggested he knew his way around a gym without being obnoxious about it.

He wore a simple black shirt and jeans, but somehow made it look deliberate.

And those tattoos that had always drawn my attention were visible, wrapping up his arms and his neck.

How does a girl run into two exes on a date night?

He didn't look at me. His attention stayed fixed on Jordan.

"Who the fuck are you?" Jordan demanded, puffing up like a rooster in a henhouse. He looked so goddamn stupid.

"Someone who's giving you a chance to walk away." Eric's tone didn't change, still that unsettling calm that made my knees weak. "Take it."

"This is between me and my girl—"

"I'm not your girl," I snapped, rubbing my wrist where red marks were already forming. I should've punched him instead of slapping. Given him a black eye for once. God knows he'd given me one the day I left him after the abuse had only gotten worse.

Jordan, the bright bulb that he was, ignored me, squaring up to Eric instead like I had ceased to exist in that moment despite me being the entire reason for this. "Mind your own business, asshole."

"I'm making it my business."

For a second, I thought Jordan might actually be smart enough to back down. The bar had gone quiet with everyone watching. Even the music seemed to have lowered, though that might've been my imagination.

Then Jordan swung.

It was a clumsy punch, all stupidity and wild. Eric moved like water, stepping inside Jordan's reach and redirecting the momentum. One second Jordan was throwing a punch, the next he was face-down on the floor with Eric's knee between his shoulder blades.

"Stay down," Eric said, still using that calm voice that somehow made the threat more real. "Unless you want me to break something."

Jordan struggled for a moment, then went still. Smart man. For once.

The bartender appeared with her phone. "Should I call the cops?"

"No," I said quickly. The last thing I needed was police involvement, especially now that I was in bed with Donatis, so to speak. "He's leaving."

Eric looked up at me, our eyes meeting for the first time. Something shifted in his expression. He recognized me, I knew that much. But had he intervened because of that? It looked like he was only now realizing who I was.

He stood, hauling Jordan up with him and steering him toward the door. The security guard was already waiting, and he happily took over from Eric.

"You crazy bitch," Jordan spat at me over his shoulder. "You'll regret this."

"The only thing I regret is wasting nearly a year on you." I crossed my arms, projecting a confidence that was forced. "Don't come back."

The security guard deposited Jordan outside with more force than strictly necessary while Eric returned to me. He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, like he'd always belonged everywhere he went. That had been part of his appeal, once. The easy confidence, the way he seemed unshakable.

Right up until he shook me off. The handsome bastard.

Too bad, even now, my body and heart were reacting to him.

"You okay?" he asked, stopping just close enough to be heard over the music, but just far enough to give me space.

"Fine." I turned back to the bar, signaling the bartender. "You shouldn't have meddled."

"He was dragging you out of here." He stayed close, his face lowered close so I could still hear him. "No man should treat a lady like that."

"I could've handled it."

"Didn't look like it."

I whirled on him, annoyance flaring hot. "I don't need some white knight swooping in to save me. I've been taking care of myself for a long time, Eric. Did you decide now was the time to play hero just because you recognized me and thought you could win me back?"

That landed. I saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the slight shift in his shoulders and the way his eyes darkened.

"I didn't know it was you right away. Ivy—"

"No." I held up a hand. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to play the concerned hero when you're the one who blocked me and dropped me four years ago. You didn't seem to be the one for talking then, so why start now?"

"It wasn't like that—"

"It was exactly like that." I grabbed my purse, my drink forgotten. "You left for work, you said. Big opportunity, you said. And then nothing. Radio silence. Blocked numbers, deleted socials. So forgive me if I'm not interested in whatever explanation you've got cooking."

I pushed past him, heading for the exit. The cool night air hit my face, cold and sobering. My hands were shaking from adrenaline mixed with anger. From seeing him again after all this time.

Behind me, I heard the bar door open.

"Ivy, wait."

I didn't. I kept walking, my heels clicking against the pavement. The parking lot stretched ahead, my new car from the Donatis a safe haven I couldn't reach fast enough.

He could watch my fine ass leave him just like he'd ditched me all that time ago. Leaving me wondering how I'd sabotaged one of the few good relationships I'd ever had in my life.

"Please."

Something in that single word made me stop. Not turn around, but stop. I stood there, keys digging into my palm, trying to remember how to breathe.

How could this man still have this effect on me after four years? Why did the universe think this was what I needed right now?

"What?" I asked without looking back.

I heard him move closer. Felt him there, just behind me. "I owed you better than that."

"Yeah." My voice threatened to break on me as old wounds were scratched. "You did."

"Can I… can we talk? Just for a minute?"

"Why?" Now I did turn, facing him fully. The streetlight caught his features, highlighting the angles I'd once traced with my fingers. The face I'd once cherished and kissed, the eyes I'd stared into many nights. "What's the point, Eric? You made your choice four years ago. I moved on."

He watched me with those dark eyes, and I hated that I couldn't read his expression. Hated that part of me still wanted to.

"Did you?" he asked quietly.

The audacity.

"Go to hell." I turned back toward my car. "We're done here."

This time, he didn't follow. I made it to my car, fumbled with the keys, climbed inside and locked the doors. Through the windshield, I could see him still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching me.

I gripped the steering wheel hard enough for my knuckles to whiten.

Four years. I'd spent four years trying to forget Eric Hale, and in one night, he'd crashed back into my life like he'd never left. And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was the flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with Jordan and everything to do with the way Eric had looked at me.

Like he'd already decided something.

Like leaving again wasn't on the table.

I started the engine, refusing to look at him in my rearview mirror as I pulled away.

Fuck him. I didn't do second chances.