Prologue
HOUND
ONE YEAR AGO
I don’t normally come here. No need to when we have our own bar and plenty of pussy to go with it at the clubhouse, but I’m not feeling it tonight.
I don’t want to be around anyone else. I’d like to pretend that I don’t know why, because admitting why I don’t want to be there makes me sound like a goddamn pussy.
But it’s my birthday.
Forty-one years old.
Fuck.
Officially over forty, and I’m not quite sure why it’s bothering me so much, but it is. I’ve never given a shit about getting older, and forty was a goddamn blast. I partied so hard I didn’t even remember half the night when I woke up two days later.
But this one hits hard.
Over forty—fucking hell. Not just forty, but over. I’m not standing at the top of the hill any longer. I’m rolling down the goddamn thing.
“Please don’t touch me,” a woman’s voice calls out.
I can hear the panic in her voice, but I don’t look over.
It’s not my fucking business. This is a bar.
A fairly rough bar at that. Unfortunately, shit like this happens.
If it were the clubhouse, I’d pay more attention, because I would take whoever the fuck was bothering a woman straight to fisticuffs.
She says it again, begging him to stop, a little louder this time, a little more panic-stricken.
And then I hear a bit of a physical struggle.
The bartender calls out for them to stop, or maybe for him to stop. I don’t know because I’m trying not to notice their existence and wallow in my own self-pity, but it seems like that won’t be happening tonight.
The physical struggle noises happen a second time, and I realize that I’m not getting out of this without interjecting myself because nobody else seems to be doing shit and I’m not going to let a woman be hurt in my presence, not again anyway.
Turning my head slightly, I look over to see a man with his hands curled around both of a woman’s wrists. He’s bigger than her, by a hell of a lot. I can’t even see her face, but her head shakes back and forth, her blonde hair flying around her shoulders.
He’s looming over her, at least eight inches taller than her, but I’ve got at least three inches on him, along with a minimum of twenty pounds of muscle more than he’s got, so I decide that this isn’t going to continue. He’s pinned her in place, and she’s whimpering.
Not fucking cool.
Sliding off my stool, I walk over to the couple. The man clearly doesn’t give a shit what the bartender has yelled. He doesn’t seem to give a shit about much, probably because he’s been getting away with whatever the fuck he’s doing for far too goddamn long.
That shit stops tonight.
Standing a few feet behind him, I cross my arms over my chest and place my feet wide, making sure I’m ready for whatever the fuck is about to come my way. If he’s got this aggression toward her, he might attempt it with me, but it won’t be much, because he ain’t fucking much.
“You ‘bout finished?” I ask.
I watch as he releases the woman, turning around slowly, and then he tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on me.
I watch as his lip curls in what I can assume is a mixture of annoyance and disgust. I can’t be fucking bothered with what he thinks of me, so I just arch a brow and wait for him to go away.
“What the fuck do you want?” he barks.
“She doesn’t want you touching her. She made that loud and goddamn clear, and yet, you were still touching her,” I state.
He growls, taking one step toward me, but then his gaze flicks down to the patch on my cut, and I take in the moment that the realization of who and what I am washes through him.
He realizes who the fuck I am.
I almost laugh, because his face turns white and then he lifts his fear-filled gaze to meet mine. His expressions of disgust and cocky attitude turn to straight-up fucking fear, and it’s hilarious. I smirk as I watch him, waiting for him to speak.
“I uh—”
“Yeah,” I grunt, leaning forward slightly. “Get the fuck outta here and don’t fucking come back,” I growl, just loud enough for only him to hear. I don’t need to make a scene, but I will if it comes to that.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
Unfolding my arms, I reach for my cut and open it slightly, showing him the gun in my shoulder holster.
I don’t look away from his face. I watch as his eyes flick to the gun, then come back up to meet my own.
I need him to know just how goddamn serious I fucking am.
I watch as he dips his chin in a single nod, then he takes a step toward me. I ready myself, bracing for whatever he’s about to say or maybe even try to do. But he doesn’t do anything. He stops when he’s right at my ear and murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.
“You can have her. Good fuckin’ luck. She’s a fucking prude,” he spits out.
He moves past me, and then I hear the door to the bar open and close. But I don’t bother looking back to watch him. I couldn’t even if I tried. Because a little blond-haired pixie has my full and complete focus and attention.
Every muscle in my body tightens at the sight of her. She’s fucking gorgeous. Absolutely stunning wrapped up in a tiny little pint-sized package with blond hair, light brown eyes, full pink lips, and the cutest fucking nose I’ve ever seen.
She tilts her head back, her big light brown eyes meet mine, and she gives me a smile. My tight body melts at the sight, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m feeling, but I want more.
“Thanks,” she exhales.
“Thanks?” I ask.
“You got rid of him. Blind date from hell.”
My brows rise in surprise. I can’t believe that was a first fucking date. What a goddamn asshole. And as much as I want to ignore her and get back to my beer and self-pity, I can tell by the look on her face that it’s not what she wants.
“Let me buy you a drink,” I offer.
She shakes her head once. “I should be buying you one as a thanks. No telling what he would have done if he’d had the chance to do anything.”
Her cute as fuck little nose wrinkles and I realize now why men turn into complete fucking pussies for women. I’m one for her, and I don’t even know her name yet. Pretty sure I’d do just about anything for this woman.
“I’m Keely, by the way,” she says, extending her hand.
Slipping my palm in hers, jolts of electricity blast throughout my whole body, shooting up my hand, arm, and down to my feet.
“Hound,” I grunt, barely able to mutter my fucking name because she’s got me that fucked up.
I order us a couple drinks, then take her over to a table. She tells me she’s in town for a friend’s wedding and one of her friends set her up with that guy in hopes she’d have a date to the wedding. We talk until the bar closes, then we go back to her hotel, which is within walking distance.
It’s the best fucking birthday I’ve ever had.