Chapter 8 MAKING A POINT #2
I slap his hand away.
“I am not your property,” I spat. “And I am not playing games.”
“You sure about that?” His voice drops, silky and dangerous.
I step back, eyes narrowing. “Get out of my way. Trust me, you don’t want me to raise my voice.”
He laughs, dark and unsettling. His large step leaves barely a breath between us now.
“You’re not the only wild one. I’m gonna take you here, whether you like it or not.” His hand shoots out and grips my throat so hard I choke.
Fear grips me in a way I’ve never experienced before. But before I can react, a voice pierces my thoughts.
“Did you not hear the lady?”
It takes me a second to realize it’s Bronx Buckley. His great-uncle owns the bar, and I’ve seen Bronx remove a man or two.
Thank fucking god.
“She told you no. She asked you to move.”
Vin pivots to size up the bulk of Bronx behind him, his hand still gripping my throat.
He must feel pretty confident that he can take him, because he says, “You’re stepping where you don’t belong.”
There’s something in the air now, humming with warning, and I know this isn’t going to end with words.
“Are we gonna have a problem here?” Bronx sounds more amused than angry.
Vin makes a motion with his fingers like two legs moving along. “How about you turn around and get the fuck out of here.” His fingers tighten around my throat.
“I was goin’ to tell you to do the same.”
“This doesn’t concern you, friend.”
“We’re not friends.” Bronx casually scratches his beard. “And I suggest you fuck right off.”
Vin shoves me and turns to face Bronx, holding out his arms. “You gonna make me?” But then he throws the first punch.
Bronx lets it land on the side of his face without budging.
I gasp and step back, grasping my neck, rubbing it, trying to erase the lingering feel of his touch.
They’ve got the exit blocked. I debate my options: run out the back door or hide in the ladies’ bathroom. But then it all happens way too fast.
A grunt.
A curse.
Vin swings again, connecting with Bronx’s jaw, but it barely fazes him. He drives a fist into Vin’s ribs, then kicks his legs out. They crash into the wall, knocking framed pictures off their hooks and shattering glass across the floor.
I try to sneak away, but Vin stumbles into the wall right next to me, reaching for me.
I gasp when Bronx’s massive arms circle my waist, and he picks me up out of the way, and a single punch to Vin has him on the floor.
“What the fuck is going on?” The bathroom door crashes open, and Hart barrels into the hallway.
He looks from Vin sprawled out on the floor, to Bronx’s arm snug around my waist.
“Now, get the fuck out of this bar,” Bronx growls.
Vin spits on the floor. “It’s a shithole anyway.”
He throws one last threatening look at us, then shoves off the floor and staggers backward, rubbing his bruising face. “This ain’t over.”
He stumbles down the hallway, glaring at us.
“You alright?” Bronx tilts his head to look at me, still not releasing me.
I feel Hart’s stare on us. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head, barely able to form words.
He lets go of me. “Give him a minute to clear his guys before you head out.”
He’s right.
My pulse still stutters. Adrenaline courses through my veins.
He turns to Hart. “Shitty timing. Where the fuck were you? If I hadn’t walked out here, that asshole would’ve had his way with Jade.”
Bronx isn’t angry. He’s just pointing out the obvious.
“Entitled prick.” Bronx stalks to the end of the short hallway, lingering and watching.
Hart looks at me. He’s all rage behind those dark eyes. I don’t know why. And I don’t know how long we just silently stare at each other. When Bronx says it’s clear, I high-tail it out with another thanks.
Vin and his guys have taken off.
This ain’t over.
Even if I’m ready to leave, we’re gonna have to wait until we know they’ve left Main Street. That could be five minutes or half an hour. Likely the longer we wait, the better.
I head back to my sisters’ table, except it’s no longer just my sisters.
Hart’s brothers are here, spread out, chairs pulled up, laughing, talking over each other, and passing around my bucket list book.
I know who to blame. Hope. Her husband sits next to her, arm draped over her shoulder, and nuzzling close. I’m sure his entourage followed him here.
“Is this real?” Dean squints at my very real, not meant for cowboys list. “Number twelve. Is this skinny-dipping in a thunderstorm?”
I’m grateful my seventeen-year-old self didn’t just write a Plain Jane bucket list. I don’t want my sisters to know what’s on those pages, let alone the Wilde siblings—Hart’s brothers.
“Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t,” Josie says. “Jade’s a woman of mystery, okay? This whole list is basically a mood ring with page numbers.”
That wasn’t supposed to be shared.
“We just finished this one.” Josie takes the book and flips through to the one she assumed was about meeting a biker.
“Flirted with that biker.” She draws an invisible checkmark in the air. “Went to the back and got some.” Another checkmark.
“I didn’t get anything, and it wasn’t actually about a biker.”
Josie sighs. “It wasn’t?” She tips the book sideways for a new angle to view, then turns it the other way. “You sure?”
“You’re not going to guess any of them. I made them impossible on purpose.”
“If you don’t give us a hint, we’re not going to have it done before your birthday,” Josie pouts, like the book is all about her.
“I vote we help with number twelve.” Dean taps the thunderstorm. “When’s the next storm? We can meet at the creek that runs through our folks’ properties. Hell, I’ll bring the pie.”
Um. No.
Big no.
The table erupts in laughter and debate about my drawings.
My book has become a group project. Maybe leaving now wouldn’t be so bad.
We could outrun the bikers to the truck.
We’ve outrun cattle. Except we have a slow-moving pregnant Hope to consider.
I’d be willing to leave her here if she weren’t our designated driver.
Dean examines the page Josie left open. “It’s too bad you’re not coming with us to the rodeo, Jade, because this looks like a Ferris wheel, and there’s one at the carnival.”
“Is this a Ferris wheel?” Josie traces the diagram in the book.
“That one is obvious, but there’s more to it than just a ride on a Ferris wheel.” Things I would never admit to them in a thousand years. And things they’d never expect.
“Like what?” Dean shrugs, sitting back. “Making out at the top? A little light petting? Or straight out orgasm?”
My breath rushes out of me at his accuracy.
But luckily for me, everyone else throws something at him, hits him, or calls him a pervert.
They have no idea how spot on he is.
“I think we can guess them.” Does Josie ever lack confidence?
“Do you, now?” I chuckle as the remnants of the fight begin to leave my body.
“Yes,” Hope chimes in. “And if we guess one, you have to come to the rodeo with us and finish this list.”
Everyone gasps.
So hard.
So long.
So dramatic that I end up laughing.
“You’ll never guess one.”
“Then make the deal.” Hope sits up the best she can with her protruding belly and holds out her hand.
“I love this,” Josie snickers.
I know they’ll never guess it.
Never.
And we have half an hour to kill, so what can it hurt?
“Fine.” I shake Hope’s hand.
Levi’s fingers thrum on the book page. “And we all get to help you finish it.”
“Why would you all want to help?”
He leans back and grins, dragging Hope into the nook of his shoulder. “‘Cause it sounds fun and we’re all going to be stuck together anyhow.”
I sigh. “Alright, but when you don’t guess it, because you won’t, y’all have to do the presentation to the town hall when you return:”
The looks of disgust across their faces are priceless, and still, they grudgingly agree. This is the easiest bet I’ve ever won in my life.
“Y’all have until Peggy-Ann spins herself fuzzy on the dance floor.”
Josie whistles low. “High stakes.”
I walk backward toward the bar. I can’t watch them dissect my book, and I need a second to myself.
Let the countdown begin.