Page 25 of Diamond In The Rough

Stovic grabs the expensive bottle of wine and tucks it under his arm, then he takes my plate and comes around to lead me away from his master’s table.

“Micah Malone!” I trip on my feet and try to peel Stovic’s fingers from my arm. “Hey! You demand answers, but won’t give me any?”

“I suggest you shut your mouth, ma’am.” Stovic half-drags me through the restaurant, past diners who watch the spectacle I make, and toward my original table, where Jazzy and Roscoe still sit, their mouths agape. “Sit down.” He shoves me to my chair, the legs scraping along the floor. “Eat your dinner.” He slaps my plate down. “And enjoy the wine. Consider it a gift from Mr. Malone.”

“I wasn’t done talking to him!”

He plants his palm on my shoulder and forces me down again when my legs would have me springing back up. “He’s done talking to you. Stay on this side of the restaurant. And if you see Mr. Malone elsewhere, I suggest you give a wide berth.” He looks down into my eyes and smiles the smile of a terrifying man. “Perhaps consider moving to Philly. I hear it’s nice there.”

With that parting wish, he sets down the wine and turns on his heels, the rigidity of his movement military-like. He crosses the restaurant without a backward glance, the man significantly larger than most of the others sin here, which means everyone watches him go.

Everyone notices him.

“What. The.” Jazzy smacks the table and draws me around with a jumping start. “Hell! Tiia?! Micah Malone just invited you to dinner?”

I swallow, my throat desert dry and my heart thundering until it aches. “Um…” I drag my gaze around in search of the man in the shadows. The stare that warms my skin, even when I’d prefer it didn’t. But the table I sat at mere moments ago is already cleared. Its occupant, gone, and the glassware that was being used, vanished, as servers reset the table and prepare it for its next diners.

“Tiia!”

“He threatened me.” Trembling, though I don’t mean to allow such a weakness, I slowly turn back to my friends. The bright ray of sunshine that is Jaz, and the not nearly as loud, not even half as colorful Roscoe. “He said something about slitting throats,” I rasp, as though Micah’s blade is already perched there. “And he asked about my relationship with this other guy. Jackson… Justin… Jasper…” I wrack my brain, my voice quivering. “Wilkes.”

“Joseph Wilkes!” Jazzy grabs my hand and forces my attention around. “Your relationship with Joseph Wilkes? What!”

“I don’t…” I shake my head and peek across at the movement just over my shoulder.

Four equally large men exit the restaurant through the front door; three guards, and a well-protected Micah. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t look into my eyes. He goes, like he didn’t just change the very fabric of my existence and leave me with lasting memories I’m not sure will wash away even fifty years from now, when I’m a little old lady with nothing to occupy my time.

“I don’t have a relationship with Wilkes,” I whimper. “Literally have never even met him.”

“Joseph Wilkes is a bad dude, Tiia.” Jaz’s iron grip gives way to something gentler. A stroking finger, which only highlights how much my hands shake in comparison. “He’s been all over the front pages for months.”

“Extortion,” Roscoe pipes up, his deep voice matching his six feet, two-inch stature. “Drug distribution. Guns.”

“He’s not someone you wanna mess with,” Jaz continues. “If you’re running in circles with Wilkes, then it’s no wonder Malone isn’t happy with you.”

“I’m not running in circles with Wilkes!” I push her hand off and shove up from my chair. “And I have no affiliation with Malone either.”

I spin from my table and leave behind my dinner and wine, and willingly tossing myself toward danger, I charge out of the restaurant and look left, then right, in search of the four-man security detail.

“Hey!” I catch sight of Micah sliding into the back seat of a shimmering black town car. But my shout alerts his men, and as I take off from the restaurant door and stalk toward the car, they form a protective line that leaves me no choice but to mow them all down if I wish to get to their boss.

“Hey, jerkoff!” I can’t throw weapons or hands at the man in the car, but I know he’ll hear me. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, or why, of all four million women in New York, I’m the one you’ve decided to mess with, but screw you, Malone!”

“Ma’am,” Stovic breaks formation and steps forward, his hand extended in my direction. “You need to go inside, right now.”

“Step aside,” Micah rumbles.

I barely hear him. I hardly decipher the words spoken on a street bustling with cars and people. But Micah’s soldiers fan out instantly, creating a passageway for their boss.

Unlike when he’s sitting, I have to look up into those threatening green eyes. And when Stovic moves and Micah takes his place, it’s the warmth radiating off his broad chest and the tang of wine on his breath hitting my lips that makes it so obvious to me how close he stands.

I came out here with such rage. With a need for validation and retribution. I’ve been tangled up in whatever drama Micah wishes to create, and the only crime I committed was being outside at night, heading to a club just as innocently as countless other women did on the same evening.

But now, he stands over me, staring down into my eyes with absolutely no patience shimmering in his. No friendliness. No kindness. No tolerance for a woman whose temper often burns hotter than her common sense.

There’s just a killer’s gaze, above nostrils flaring with anger.

“What?” he bites out, the single syllable startling enough to make me flinch. “What do you want?”

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