Page 10 of Moros

“And your payment?”

“We can broach this topic again if there’s something I need to protect your body from.”

Ryanne pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Deal?” I asked.

She seemed thoughtful for a while before nodding.

As she walked away, I stared after her, wondering how she wound up in a place like this.

She walked by the man who’d fixed the door, and he smacked her ass.

She turned and slapped him hard across the face but the man only laughed and headed in my direction to get to the door that had fallen off the hinge again.

As he passed me, I surged to my feet, grabbed him by the back of the neck and brought his face down into the table—hard.

“Look at me.” I demanded, twisting my wrist so he lifted his bloody face. “Look at me.”

When he opened his eyes, I leaned in close.

“Are you hearing me?” I asked, softly.

The man nodded.

“You don’t know who I am—but I don’t talk just to hear myself.”

Again, he nodded. “Ye—yes.”

“If you touch her or any other of these women again without their permission,” I said. “I will come back and cut off every—single—one of your fingers. While you’re still alive. Are we clear?”

When he made no move to respond, I brought his head away from the table and slammed it down again.

“Are we clear?” I asked.

“Clear.” He sputtered. “I understand.”

Pulling him back, I dropped him on the ground and sat in the booth again. The man scooped himself off the ground, covered his nose with one hand and ran off. I plucked out a bunch of napkins, cleaned off the table then wandered in the bathroom to wash my hands.

Ryanne was seated in her spot again, sipping from her drink while mine sat waiting.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She told me, her voice soft. “Now he’s just going to make my life hell.”

“Then, I’ll come back.” I told her, using my straw to stir my drink. “Pay him another visit.”

Ryanne said nothing.

Her silence forced me to look up into her eyes.

A million questions floated through her deep, brown gaze, and I was very sure they were questions I didn’t have the answers to.

“I guess we have a deal, Mr. Weston.”

I scoffed—a sound that sounded softer than I thought I was capable of.

“They call me Moros.” I explained.

She was already scared of me.

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