Chapter 4 #2
Bergmann’s angel wings droop from his shoulders like some kind of joke.
His white robe is too small for him, and the front gapes open, showcasing the straining muscles of his barrel-shaped torso.
He’s the kind of guy who thinks women are prizes, and right now, he’s determined to win the one in front of him. Not happening.
His friends—three beefy guys in shoddy angel costumes and one girl with glitter smeared on her cheek—talk amongst themselves.
When one bumps Bergmann’s wings, and he’s forced to grab and adjust them, he gives his friends an unfriendly look before turning his shark’s teeth into a smile for the girl who matters.
J and Sawyer grab a recently vacated tall table, hanging back. I guess they’re giving Ashling and Bergmann the illusion of privacy as they talk. I’ve got no interest in keeping the distance—or anything else—polite.
When Ash smiles at Bergmann, a surge of something ugly roils in my gut. My jaw grinds, molars protesting, and I roll my shoulders back to stretch out the tension. Locking my jaw from the inside to prevent myself from growling, I wait .
Bergmann stands closer, pasting an approximation of a grin on his face.
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s got hunger written all over his posture.
Ash doesn’t flinch or draw back, which makes my knuckles creak with the urge to grab her.
Bergmann shrinks the gap to inches. Too close for my taste.
Ash reaches into a zipper pocket on the side of her pant leg. Elegant fingers draw out a ring. Even from here, I see the glint: a Claddagh, this one modern with its yellow gold and gemstone bling.
I take it the ring is from Bergmann. Was she waiting to put it on in front of him?
My muscles flex, readying themselves instinctively. Not my business , I tell myself. But my hand is rising, intent clear. It wants to wrench that ring away from her and crush it in a fist.
Halting my movement just in time, I watch as she puts the ring in his palm. Not a trace of feigned regret. She could be handing him spare change. Here is where the perpetual sunshine becomes a blade.
Bergmann stares down at it, his brow furrowing. The light in his eyes dies, replaced with something dark as his ego hemorrhages.
My own darkness laps it up.
This time when he tries to lean farther in, she leans back, not allowing the maneuver.
“You’re making a mistake, Ash.” His tone is flat as it covers cold rage.
“Not the first. Or the last, I’m sure.” She winks at him, trying to lighten the moment. The blue brightness of her eyes sparkles from the pulse of the overhead strobes, mocking the gems in the ring. And mocking the guy in front of her.
As she starts to turn, his meaty hand grabs her slim arm.
My fists ball, tendons and bones protesting at the restraint I exercise.
I will make him let her go, and soon. But I want her to make eye contact with me first. I want it on record, silently and just between us, that she’s asking for my help. And owes me for giving it.
But the little demon continues to earn her horns. Her focus is on him alone.
Licking fleshy lips, Bergmann glances around. His group watches. Embarrassment causes his beefy forearms to flex.
“Enough games.” The words are ground out through his clenched teeth. “Consider carefully, Ash. Throw the ring back in my face, and everything changes. I’ll stop protecting you.”
His gaze drops to her arm, and I don’t miss her wince. Without conscious thought, I’m right there, towering over him, my own rage simmering.
“Let that go.” My gaze looks pointedly at the arm he’s squeezing.
Power lifter grip. He could snap the bone. A current of true black runs through me. If he were to do that, I would cut his throat down to the spine.
Bergmann’s eyes rise to meet mine. His are icy, with a cunning undercurrent. “Private conversation. So, fuck off .”
Bodies crowd closer… the frat brothers, J, strangers who sense the drama and want a front-row view.
A guy tries to take my arm in a preemptive move to keep me from swinging it. The strategy is decent. Pinning me in, keeping my limbs contained and trapped.
A wave of claustrophobia hits, and it’s game on. My elbows drive outward as I twist sideways and back, sharp blows causing the right flank to falter. It’s all I need.
My fists go to work as my thighs flex and dig in. I drop three and then grab Bergmann by the throat. His hands shoot up to grab my forearm.
That’s it. Show me what you’ve got.
The pressure is crushing. I bring my left fist up in an undercut that hits healing ribs that are vulnerable. The breath shoots out of him in a wheeze, and he drops to his knees.
I take a hit to the kidney from one of the risen frat boys. I kick Bergmann in the chest with a heavy boot before turning and shoving the guy behind me so hard he knocks three people down as he falls.
“Right, okay,” J says in a low, urgent voice, heavy with his brogue. “Security incoming. Three and six o’clock.”
My arm snatches Ashling around the waist, hauling her against me and off the ground. With the jarring of her body, her icy drink splashes over my chest and runs down in sticky rivulets.
People jump aside to keep my free arm from swatting them out of my way.
I don’t look back to be sure none of the fraternity boys or security guards have grabbed J.
My instincts are well-honed from long ago, way before my Crue training.
To help him, I’d have to put down what I’m carrying. Which is a hard no.
Keeping what I took is the priority.