Page 38 of Roaming Holiday

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods. “I’m fine. He wouldn’t let go.”

I fight every instinct to confront them, but my job is to protect Nina and avoid all conflict. Which is why I nearly smile when the unwanted guest claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Wait your turn,” he says in Maldanian.

The bass thumps in my chest. I look at him, studying his pointy features. “Please remove your hand from my shoulder.”

He laughs, tossing a look at his friend. Nina shifts closer to me, her arm still around my elbow. Her presence is a reminder—deescalate and leave. But the man’s hold tightens, and I think of this exact hand touching her without permission.

In a fluid motion, I contort his hand until I feel his wrist snap. He yelps, almost dropping to his knees as he cradles his broken bones. His friend rears back with a fist, but I send the knuckle of my index finger to the pressure point between his brows. His head reels back from my phoenix eye fist, so disconcerted that he collapses. Nina gasps and the crowd backs away.

Maia appears, asking what happened. When Vanessa pops up, I pull Nina aside and tell her we need to leave.

“What? Why?”

“The bouncer will more than likely kick both of us out. That will bring attention, especially with Princess Vanessa around.”

Nina doesn’t hesitate. When she grabs her things and heads to the restroom, Maia walks up to me with Mason not far behind. In heels, Maia is at least an inch taller than me.

“Are you taking her home?”

“If that’s what she wants,” I say.

“Well, are you going to take care of her? She’s drunk.”

A minute ago, I broke someone’s wrist and wounded another because they put their hands on Nina. And Maia is still ensuring that I’ll take care of her sister.

“I give you my word that she’ll return safely.”

She points a threatening finger at me. “She fucking better.”

The corner of my mouth quirks. After slipping out the private entrance, Nina latches onto my arm as we head toward the main road.

“I can’t believe you did that!”

With the amount of entitlement those two men had, they would have gone to great lengths to inconvenience my life. It isn’t a notable event to me, but she’s thrilled by it.

“You won’t get in trouble?” she asks, stumbling over the cobblestone.

I reach out to steady her. “No. He came at me first.”

She laughs. “That was so cool! You know, I punched someone before.”

“Did you, now?”

She doesn’t notice my sarcasm. Her hold on my arm tightens as she staggers over the bumpy street. I’ve seen my share of drunk women; being around any drunk person gets old fast. Not Nina. She doesn’t do this often—the fact that she can’t hold her liquor tells me so.

The road is mostly empty, considering all the shops are closed. The neighborhood is wealthy, making street crime less likely.

“I was a freshman in high school,” she begins. “Me and my friends were hanging out in a parking lot and I had Maia with me because I picked her up from school. She was only in sixth or seventh grade and this boy called her a bitch! So I punched him in the nose and it got blood everywhere. Maia was totally being a bitch but I wasn’t about to let anyone else call her that.”

I scratch the back of my neck as she presses her body weight into me with each step. For six years, I worked for one of the strongest crime bosses and arms dealers. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and done things that warrant a death penalty—and Nina’s bragging about giving a boy a bloody nose a decade ago.

Yet when she leans her head on my shoulder, a hint of contentment punctures my chest.

19

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