THE END
CASH
I’m just as pathetically mesmerized by her as everyone else in the swarming crowd is. Monroe Blue is onstage, her curly blond hair and bright blue eyes blown up on the screen. Her silky white corset top and skintight black jeans accentuate every delicious curve of her body. Her red lips arch into a seductive smile as the song ends, the lights fading out. Everyone around me erupts into roaring applause, pleading with her to keep going.
Pathetic.
Although, as close as I am to the stage, she is truly intoxicating. Her presence is almost otherworldly, like she’s a step above the rest of humanity.
And the rest of humanity is way too fucking close to me right now.
Obsessed. The entire crowd is obsessed with her, along with most of the world.
A man next to me has been sweating and photographing her since the moment she stepped onstage. I’ve been keeping an eye on his movements to make sure he stays away from my sister and her friend.
My sister, Dolly, and her best friend, Rosie, insisted we get this close to the stage. I would’ve preferred lingering near the back, where the exits were clearly in view and I could keep at least three feet of distance between me and other people. I glance around for the girls, wondering how long it could possibly take for them to go to the restroom and get a refill. An uneasiness comes over me, one I can’t quite pin down the source of. My skin feels like it’s about to spark a fire. My instincts are never wrong.
The man next to me pushes closer to the front as the band does some kind of instrument tune-up and Monroe Blue takes a sip of water. She’s been performing for over an hour without a break. I look down at my phone, seeing a text from my brother about tomorrow’s work schedule, and type out a response.
Someone next to me gasps, jerking my attention up toward the stage. The man who was standing beside me has just hopped the fence and jumped up onto the stage. Time slows as he lunges for Monroe Blue and tackles her to the ground. The night is torn in half by her piercing scream.
My instincts kick in, causing me to dart forward. The crowd has pushed in closer to see the spectacle. I shove a man out of the way, indifferent to his protest. Monroe Blue is trying to kick her assailant off to get away. I keep expecting someone from her security detail to assist her, to get there before I do. In the agonizing long seconds it takes me to part the thick crowd and jump up onto the stage, no one else comes.
The attacker tears her top, and I see the glint of a knife in his hand before I descend on him, my fist crushing his jawline. His grip on her loosens, and I take the opportunity to jerk him off of her.
I rear back and deliver another blow to his face.
In the corner of my eye, I see her crawling away. The man collapses onto the stage. I straddle him, my fists landing on different portions of his face over and over again, and blood begins to decorate his features and my knuckles. All I see is red. Red-hot rage courses through me at the vile intrusion of a man laying hands on an unsuspecting woman.
Finally, someone pulls me off of him. I go willingly, thinking he might be about to pass out. He barely moves, shuddering as he coughs up blood.
Little fucker didn’t even get in one shot.
The arms holding me back loosen slightly. I wipe the blood on my hands off onto my jeans, surveying the area for Monroe Blue, trying to make sure there wasn’t an accomplice to the attack. I sigh in relief as she steps out of the backstage area, pale blue eyes wide and glazed over. I step toward her, but the hands around my shoulders pull me back.
“Let him go!” she commands.
They instantly obey, releasing me. I take a step closer, keeping a few feet of distance between us. Before I have time to ask her if she’s okay, I notice that her shirt was torn nearly in half, the bottom part of her breasts and all of her tanned stomach showing as she tries to cover herself with just her hands in the chilled air.
I slowly unbutton my blue-and-white plaid button-down before shrugging it off my shoulders and stretching it out to her. There’s only a little bit of blood and sweat on it.
She stares at it with widened eyes for a few seconds before turning her back to me. At first, I think she’s denying the gesture. Then, I realize that she wants me to put it on her. I drape it over her slim frame, careful not to touch her skin, which seems to be glittering now that I’m closer to her. She’s ten times more beautiful up close.
She turns back around to face me, clutching the shirt closely around herself. Her supple lips part as an angelic sound escapes her mouth.
“You saved my life. What’s your name?” Her iconic, raspy voice cuts me like a knife.
I tilt my cowboy hat toward her. “Cash Redford.”
“Cash Redford,” she repeats.
It floats off of her tongue, sounding better than anything I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We need to get you to a safe place,” a man with a clear-wired earpiece says to her, eyeing me suspiciously.
She blinks at me, clutching my shirt closer around her shoulders as a chill runs over my exposed arms and chest. “Of course. I just … I just wanted to say thank you.”
I tip my hat to her again. “No thanks needed, ma’am.”
Her depthless eyes don’t leave mine until they shuffle her away, toward the back of the stage.
The next thing I know, the sheriff cuffs me, reading out my Miranda rights. I roll my eyes, remaining silent.
Fucking Dixons.
Ever since my father stole his girl thirty years ago, Mayor Dixon has hated our family. The local law enforcement are pawns in his pocket, meaning even when we’re the good guys, like tonight, we go through the wringer to prove it.
After I’m shipped off to the jail, I endure several hours of questioning and refuse to speak until my lawyer arrives. They finally let me go after a beating in the back of the cell block. It’s our local sheriff’s favorite way of delivering a merciful warning.
When I get home, I take a much-needed shower, watching the dried blood swirl around the drain. My fists are sore from the blows to the creep’s face. The black eye and split lip the deputy gave me will heal in a few days.
They told me that I broke the attacker’s nose in three places, along with his jaw. He’ll need surgery to look even remotely close to who he used to be.
Good riddance, fucker.
I probably did the human population a favor.
The expression of awe on Monroe Blue’s face when I saved her is going to haunt me. Her parted pink lips and heaving breasts were like something from a Playboy magazine.
Lust.
When I see her face, I can sense the lust of a thousand men wishing she’d spare them a passing glance.
I collapse into my bed, trying to shove her face out of my mind and dream about something else, anything else.