Page 130 of Camera Shy

“I don’t think that—”

I don’t get to finish my thought because suddenly Morgan’s yanked backward from the bar. He looks as shocked as I am. The next thing I see is fire in Finn’s eyes as he steps between us.

I’ll admit, this doesn’t look good. I must’ve been gone for too long and I’m willing to bet if there was one man in this entire club he wouldn’t want me talking to, it’s Morgan. I have no idea how much of our conversation he heard, but I can literally feel his anger.

“Leave, Morgan,” Finn says. I can barely hear him over the banging music. But there’s a malice in his eyes that gives me chills. “Grab your girl and get the fuck out of my family’s club.”

Morgan ignores him and turns his attention to me. “See?” His smile grows cool and cocky and for the first time, I notice his eyes are bloodshot.

Is he drunk or high? Goddamn, he has a good poker face. I didn’t even notice he was inebriated. Our conversation was perfectly normal.

“No man gets that angry about a woman he doesn’t love. My mere presence pisses him off because they are still fucking. I promise you that.”

“I’m not going to warn you again. You’re drunk and you’re trying to stir up shit.” Finn glances at me and he half-smiles before turning a glare back to Morgan. “Leave her out of it. Leave me out of it. If Nora’s here, take her home. Now.”

“Fuck you, man. I’m a guest. And why are you so angry?” Morgan asks, his voice taunting.

I can’t figure out why he’s poking the bear. Even I can tell Finn’s one short step away from exploding. But now I’m wondering if he’s agitated at the idea of Morgan with me…or Morgan with Nora.

Morgan foolishly continues, “Whether I’m with Nora or not, it’s not going to stop you from fucking her behind my back like you’ve been doing for years.”

Thud.

It happens so quickly that I can hardly make sense of it. Finn’s fist meets Morgan’s face with such force that I can almost feel the impact standing two feet away. I let out an involuntary gasp before I cover my mouth. Morgan is on the ground, holding his cheekbone where Finn struck it. I fight the urge to squat down and help him up. It’s clear who my loyalty is to, but right now I’m staring at a Finn I don’t recognize. He looks like he’s standing over a man’s grave, getting ready to spit on it.

Within a moment, Morgan sits up.

“I dare you to get up,” Finn says with the most disdain I’ve ever heard from a human being before. Finn turns to me and cocks his head to the side. “Whatever story he’s spinning—”

I hold up my hands. “You don’t owe me explanations.”

“Let me,” Finn pleads. “Please.”

I shrug. “He didn’t say anything. Just that he accidentally cheated and then Nora drifted and fell in love with you.”

“Accidentally?” Finn lets out a cruel laugh. “Avery, this man cheated on Nora more times than he can count. He verbally abused her for years. He’s the reason she’s so fucking insecure and miserable that she’s going to sabotage every relationship she’s in for the rest of her life. He treated her like—”

“What?” Morgan croaks. “A stripper? It’s what she is.”

There’s a chill. Finn’s obviously triggered and I know the world has fallen away for him. All he sees is red, hot rage. I take a small step backward, nervous about what I’m about to see. “You know what? I changed my mind. Get the fuck up.” Finn cracks his knuckles. “I’ve been waiting years for this.”

“Finn, please walk away,” I say, but he doesn’t hear me. Instead, I feel a small, soft hand on my elbow pulling me away from the crowd that’s forming around Finn and Morgan.

Cass’s bouncy brunette curls are dancing behind her as she quickly leads me away from the bar. She’s dressed tonight as what I can only assume is a Victoria’s Secret model because all she’s wearing is lingerie and a see-through robe. I keep my eyes focused on the hem of her long robe, fighting the urge to just find the exit sign and flee.

This is not my arena.

I am not the girlfriend of a guy who gets into bar fights after being offered lap dances all night. The wildest thing Mason and I used to do was catch a Thursday night football game at a sports bar when they had two-for-one wings. I am not lingerie, strippers, and this much alcohol…

I’m not Vegas.

We bank left and Cass leads me into a room with a neon champagne flute sign hanging over it. Champagne room. Of course. How cliché.

“Take a seat, hon. You look like you’re about to be sick.” She shuts the door behind us and once the glaring music and shouts are muted, I feel so much more relaxed. “You didn’t want to see all that,” she says with a pitiful smile.

Cass grabs a seat in a bean bag chair in the corner of the room. She pulls a packet of candy from the cup of her bra. She opens it and offers me what looks like a gummy worm. “Something to take the edge off?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

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