23. Kade
Chapter 23
Kade
When I hear the name Derek, I think of some rich boy douchebag who takes his daddy’s car for joyrides or a guy who plays video games all day in his mom’s basement. Presley’s Derek paints a completely different picture, one I couldn’t fully see in the selfie on her phone.
He has dark-red hair and a tall, lanky body covered in tattoos, and he’s sporting a nose ring that I have the desire to yank out. He’s not ugly by any means, but he looks like someone who is very punchable.
Presley shifts nervously next to me, and I debate what to do. My immediate reaction is to step in front of her and tell this guy to fuck off. But from what I’ve learned about her in the short time I’ve known her, she doesn’t want to stand out, at least not in social situations.
Getting her to dance just now had been hard enough, especially since she’d been so worried about what Jake would think. At a regular job, she’d probably be right in her concern, but at Night Hawk, we don’t exactly run like a normal establishment. I’ve covered for Jake on plenty of occasions when he’s needed “breaks,” and he does the same for me. Now Presley is included in our little bar family—it’s just how things go in a small town.
I also saw the way she was looking at the women who’d been throwing themselves at me. It was part of the reason I asked her to dance. When I made eye contact with her from across the room, I felt giddy at seeing the jealousy in her eyes. I had the overwhelming urge to run across the room and kiss her, to tell her that I’m not interested in any other women.
That thought had shocked me, punched me in the gut so hard I just about fell over. Before I met her, I would have never pictured myself in this situation, but here I am. I’ve been hit by Hurricane Presley, and my life is never going to be the same.
Presley crosses her arms over her chest. “There’s nothing to talk about, Derek,” she finally says in answer to his statement. “Please leave.”
Douchey Derek looks her up and down with a type of evaluation that screams critical judgment. The intensity of it has Presley shifting closer to me. I want to pull her into my body, but I know that wouldn’t help her right now.
The asshat turns his steely rat gaze on me, but his clear disapproval of me doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’m used to looks like that from not only my own family but also from people I’ve grown up with my entire life. What does bother me, though, is the way his eyes narrow and his pointy shoulders straighten. How he turns up his nose as if he’s better than me.
“We have lots to talk about, Sweetheart.”
My throat burns, and my fists clench. How can a sweet nickname sound so disgusting coming from this man’s mouth? I understand even more now why Presley wasn’t into nicknames at first. But I will admit it makes my heart swell knowing she likes my nicknames, that she asked me to call her by them.
“No, Derek, we don’t.” Her anxious eyes dart around the room. Several people have stopped what they’re doing to watch this interaction. And while the band is still playing, and a few people have started to dance, the tension between the three of us is obvious.
This guy sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of cowboy hats and Wranglers. His piercings, white T-shirt, leather jacket, and overly baggy pants scream for people to look at him. His tall height and smarmy face don’t help him, either .
Douchey Derek reaches out to grab Presley’s arm, and this time, I don’t stop myself from stepping in. My fingers wrap around his wrist before he can touch her, and I give a warning twist—not very hard but enough to sting.
“I don’t know where you were raised, but out here, we don’t touch a woman without asking.”
Derek yanks his arm back, and I let it go without a fight. I watch as he babies his wrist like I broke it. “Don’t touch me, you damn hillbilly. My hands are worth a lot of money.”
One of our regulars, Tim Corbin—who’s sitting at a table near us on the perimeter of the dance floor—hears Derek’s words and lets out a hoot of amusement. It’s enough to make me grin.
“You need help knocking this city boy out, Kade?” he asks.
I tip my hat at him as Derek scoffs out a sound of protest. “We’re good, Tim. Derek was just about to get in his car and go back to where he came from.”
“If any of you touch me, you’ll hear from my lawyers.”
Presley puts her hand on my back and applies gentle pressure. I move to the side so that she’s facing him, whoever this man is to her.
“What do you want, Derek? Tell me quickly, then please leave.” Her eyes dart around the room again, more frantic this time. She crosses her arms over her chest, and I watch as the woman who had just started to blossom begins to close up again. I don’t fucking like it.
“Marié said she saw a fat girl with purple hair and flower tattoos here last night. Not many people we know with that description. I had to come see for myself if it was true, if you were slumming it in the sticks.”
I step forward again, the simmering anger inside me that is always waiting to boil spreading heat through every part of my body. The reasons Presley wanted to stay clothed, to not have me touch her stomach, why she was worried about her weight on my legs and me helping her on the horse today—it all makes perfect sense now. I want to beat this guy’s face to a pulp.
Presley tugs on my bicep, but it doesn’t stop me from getting in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I seethe.
“Step the fuck back,” Derek barks, drawing more attention to us. He’s taller than me, but I’ve got a lot more bulk on him. And now that I’m this close, I know he’s drunk. I can smell alcohol and what I’m assuming is weed on his breath.
“Make me,” I say.
“I’m talking to my girlfriend. This is our business.”
I try not to flinch at the words coming out of his mouth, but he notices my reaction.
“This bitch not tell you?” He cackles like a wicked witch.
I grab him by the collar of his shirt, and his body jostles from the force. I’m blinded with rage now, a rage I’ve only felt once before: the night I found out Gavin had been lying to us. But the rage isn’t because he called her his “girlfriend”—it’s because of how he’s speaking about Presley overall. Whether they’re in a relationship or not, I’m going to stand up for her. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit and called disgusting names.
“Kade!” Presley cries quietly, pulling on my arm again. “He’s not worth it.”
The pleading and desperate tone of her voice manage to worm their way through the ominous emotions coursing through my veins, helping me remember where I am and who I’m with. If Presley doesn’t want me to pummel this douche, I won’t.
I relax my fist and release my hold on him. As soon as he’s free, Derek steps back and fixes his shirt, brushing at it like he’s wiping away dirt. The band keeps playing despite the drama unfolding. “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by The Charlie Daniels Band is fitting for this moment.
Derek eyes the stage then glares at Presley. She looks smaller and meeker than the woman I’ve come to know. Despite her awkwardness at first, she’s never been meek with me. That was what drew me to her in the first place.
Derek rubs his hands together excitedly like he just won the lottery. “I’m glad I came to see this. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.”
Presley swallows, following Derek’s gaze—he’s eyeing the fiddle player—before she looks back at him. “To see what?” she asks.
I hate how scared her voice sounds. It makes me want to pull her in my arms and hide her away from the world. Especially from this piece of shit.
“To see how far you’ve fallen.” He smirks then takes a step back. I think he’s going to walk away, but then he makes a big show of pointing at Presley and raises his voice. “This woman right here, Ladies and Gents, is one of the best fiddle players in the country, and she threw it all away for some cowboy’s dick!”
Several people gasp, and the band stops playing at the commotion. I’m faintly aware of the sound of chairs scraping against the wood floors and Tim moving out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t think for another second—I just send my fist flying into Derek’s face. To his credit, he doesn’t go down like I thought he would, but the force of it has him stumbling back.
“Oh my god, Kade!” Presley cries.
Derek’s hands fly up to his now bloody nose. His feet move to charge at me, but Tim and Jake are suddenly there, grabbing the lanky man by the arms.
He struggles against them. “Let me go! He assaulted me, for fuck’s sake!” Derek screams.
Chants of “Throw him out!” travel through the crowd as he continues to fight against my friends’ hold. The veins in his neck bulge from the effort.
“You both okay?” Jake asks. He holds on to Derek tighter, his face neutral as if he’s not holding back a struggling man .
I shake out my hand as I check on Presley. I expect her to look embarrassed, but instead she looks livid, eyes full of fire and jaw like marble. But her gaze isn’t directed at me—she’s glaring at Derek.
“Presley?” Jake asks.
She doesn’t answer him. Her furious stare is now locked with Derek’s as he continues to squirm like the worm he is.
“Presley,” Derek says, his voice gentler now. “Tell these bastards to get their hands off me. I’ll take you back home. You can fix this.”
I watch the scene unfold carefully, ready to step in if she needs it. But by the way she squares her shoulders and the determined shine in her eyes, I think she’s got whatever she’s planning handled.
With two short strides, she’s in front of Derek.
In a bold move, the asshole smiles at her sweetly, gaze softening, as if he thinks that will manipulate her into doing whatever he wants. Presley leans forward so they’re close, a smirk on her lips that, if I were Derek, would send alarm bells dinging in my brain. But the asshole has the audacity to look as if he’s won, like her closeness means she’s going to kiss him.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Derek?” she spits, her voice unlike I’ve ever heard from her. Gone are her velvet tones, and in their place is a raspy anger. “I’m not your fucking girlfriend! You are a lying”—she stabs her pointer finger into his chest—“cheating”—she pokes him again, so hard he groans—“piece of shit!”
Then she pulls her finger back, but instead of stepping away, she winds up and socks him right in the gut.
The Night Hawk crowd erupts in cheers as Derek groans and slumps in Tim and Jake’s grasp. Presley steps back, exuding the same confidence I witnessed earlier when she sat atop Big John. She glances at Jake with that same assurance.
“I think Derek needs a good night’s rest in a holding cell to sleep off all the alcohol he drank. ”
Derek grunts.
“Oh, and Jake?” Presley taps her chin. “Isn’t the recreational use of weed illegal in Texas?”
I press my lips together as I try not to snort. My Lemon is savage, and that is sexy as hell.
“You’d be right, Ms. Presley.” Jake grins.
“You bitch!” Derek spits, struggling again.
“Alright, someone call the Sheriff so we can stop listening to this asshole,” Tim says, shaking Derek a bit.
“He’s already here,” somebody calls from near the door.
Jake chuckles. “Gotta love small towns, huh, asshole?”
At the mention of the Sheriff, Derek’s energy shifts, fear riddling his busted face. “Presley, come on! You’ll ruin my life,” he pleads, but she doesn’t react, only stands there with her lips pressed in a hard line.
Jake glances between Presley and I while he and Tim continue to hold Derek tighter.
“Why don’t you two get out of here for the night,” Jake says. “Stu, Dan, and I will manage. If we need more help, Tim can step in. Right, Tim?”
“At your service,” he nods.
Presley blinks, snapping out of whatever she’s thinking. “No, Jake. That’s not necessary.”
“It’s all good, Presley.”
“Presley!” Derek’s whiny voice cuts in.
“Oh, shut up,” Tim mimics in the same tone. “Let’s take him out to the Sheriff,” he directs at Jake.
Jake nods, turning his attention to the stage. “Start up the music, boys!” he yells to the band. Then he looks out at the crowd. “And let’s get those drinks flowing. It’s now officially power hour!”
The people in the bar cheer at the mention of cheap beer, and the place starts to liven up again as the fiddler plays. I turn to Presley, her focus on Jake and Tim as they drag a sulking Derek out of the bar .
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking her hand.
Her blue eyes flutter up to meet mine. I stare into the depths of them, and my heart beats faster in my chest. God, she’s beautiful, so beautiful, and I hate that she doesn’t know it. That this asshole made her feel any less than perfect the way she is.
Presley’s gaze volleys to my lips then once again to my eyes. “Kade,” she breathes out, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips.
“What do you need, Lemon?” I ask, my head lowering of its own accord. The sounds of the bar and the lingering stares of those around us fade, and I feel like we’re the only ones on this dance floor.
The words she wants to say rest on the tip of her tongue—I can see it. I bring one of my fingers up to brush across the soft skin of her pink cheek before I press my thumb into the flesh of her lower lip. Her breath hitches, and I’m faintly aware that my knuckles are bloody from the punch I threw, but I couldn’t care less about my hand right now.
Presley blinks, sucking in a breath as if she’s gathering courage. When our eyes connect, I see a heat in them now, a raw desire I saw earlier when we flirted, when we were both thinking about what transpired between us last night.
“Lemon?” I ask again. This time, my tone is light and teasing as I drag my hand down the column of her throat, pressing my thumb against her fluttering pulse point. “What do you need, darlin’?”
My words are enough to finally shake her from her thoughts. Presley licks her lips then exhales, her warm breath skittering across my face. “I need you, Kade. Just you.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead, my soul soaking up her words like a sponge. What she said, the meaning of it—I don’t even know if I can grasp it right now. I only know I wanted to hear it, needed to hear it.
“Then let’s get out of here.”