Page 48 of Broken Instrument

A body slams against me, and I jerk back, shaking my head as the stranger slips me a note. Curious, I unfold the paper and find familiar handwriting scrawled across it. Marty’s handwriting.

You sure you don’t want to make a deal?

My pulse spikes as I scan the message a dozen times.

What did he do?

Ignoring the cacophony of fear and anxiety, I shove the note into my back pocket and close the last bit of distance between me and the bar.

The guy is leaning toward Hadley, whispering something in her ear as she thumbs the buttons on his white shirt, giggling softly. My fists tighten at my sides, the urge to beat the shit out of the bastard simmering right below the surface. The old me would’ve decked him without another thought. He was reckless. Selfish. Angry. My nostrils flare as I let out a slow breath and force my hands to unclench.

“Hey, Hadley,” I greet her through gritted teeth.

“Hey, you!” She slips off the barstool, almost landing on her ass. I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her steady.

“I missed you!” With her arms twisting around my neck, she pulls me closer and runs her nose along the column of my throat. “You smell good. Mmm.” The sound goes straight to my cock. “Why do you smell so good?”

“You okay, Hads?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm. Just dandy. How are you?”

“Doing good. Just finished.” I try to pull her away so I can inspect her closer, but she keeps the vice grip around my neck like she isn’t ready to let me go. Instead, she leans closer, leaving me to carry almost all of her body weight as she sinks into me even more. Giving in, I rub my hand up and down her back while she breathes me in deep.

“Seriously, Fen. You smell soooo good.”

Her pert nipples brush against my chest through the thin layers of fabric separating us, but I try to ignore them. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’ at the end, smacking the sound like a piece of bubblegum in my ear.

With a low chuckle, I grab her wrists from around my neck and pull away again. This time, she lets me. I scan her face and glassy eyes.

Doing the same, she cups my cheek and runs her fingers along the scruff near my sideburns. “You have pretty eyes. And you kind of look like Jax Teller.”

“Who?”

“Sons of Anarchy. You know. With the motorcycle. Do you have a motorcycle? You should totally get a motorcycle.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight, Hads?”

She lifts her forefinger and thumb, leaving a smidge of space between the two. “Just a liiiiiitle bit. How’s about you, Mr. Teller? How much have youuuu had to drink?”

I look for the guy who’d been chatting with her, but the asshole’s missing. Turning to Sammie behind the bar, I yell, “Sam!”

As she flips a bottle of Jack into the air and catches it in her other hand, she answers, “Yeah?”

“How much did she have to drink?”

She continues mixing the Jack and Coke for another customer but replies, “One glass of wine. That’s it.”

“And the guy she was chatting with. Did you know him?”

“The guy?” She tilts her head to one side and thinks for a second. “Nope. Never seen him before, or at least not that I remember. Why?”

“Would he have had a chance to slip her something?”

Sammie’s concern ratchets up a few more notches as she scans a very strung-out Hadley from head to toe. “Shit. I try to watch out for that, but I didn’t see anything––”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath while keeping a firm grasp around Hadley’s waist.

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