Page 62 of Sweet Animosity

Thank God, I’d taken a small enough hit that all I had was a mild, but still fun, buzz. Since it was already wearing off, I figured it was safe to now have my preferred party favor, an extra filthy dirty martini with blue cheese olives.

As I crossed from the dance floor toward the bar in front of the high-backed velvet lounge tables, an arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me down onto a lap.

“What the fuck?” I called out.

Some douchebag with more gel in his hair than sense licked his lips. “How about a private dance?”

Gross.

“Get off me.”

“Hey, don’t be like that, babe.”

“I’m not your babe, now get your hands off me or?—”

He laughed as he tightened his grasp around my waist. “Or what?”

“Or you die,” growled a voice behind me.

Uh oh.

CHAPTER 23

VAR

If I forced Serg to deal with a fourth dead body this week, I would be the fifth.

With ripping the man’s head off and showing it to his corpse off the table, I was forced to deal with the situation in a more civilized manner.

Leaning down, I wrapped my arm around Vivian’s waist and pulled her off the should-be-a-dead-man’s lap. “I will deal with you later,” I warned as I tucked her behind me.

Before the idiot had a chance to respond, I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it forward onto the cocktail table. The loud music deprived me of hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking, but the gush of blood was a decent consolation prize.

Vivian tapped me on the shoulder. “Are you really here?”

“Baby, I’m a little busy trying not to kill the man who laid hands on you. Can we discuss this later?”

She smiled as she patted my shoulder. “Oh, my God, that sounds exactly like something you would say if you were really here.”

I kept the pressure on the back of the man’s head so he couldn’t raise his torso. Scanning over the people at his table, I asked, “Are we going to have a problem?”

Two of them raised up their palms in submission and shook their heads. The third lifted his drink and toasted me. “Nah, the guy’s a dick.” He then took a swig from his drink.

I wrenched the man’s head back. As his head bobbed, he looked at me through glazed, half-lidded eyes.

“Hey, listen. This is important.” Once I slapped him, I had his attention.

“What the fuck, dude? Did you break my nose?”

Ignoring his stupid question, I said, “Here’s the thing, asshole. Only men with power, money, and balls can pull off anti-Me-too caveman shit. By the looks of it, you have none of this.”

His eyes teared. “Damn, that’s mean. By pigeonholing my existence into my economic status, you’ve hurt my feelings.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose. Fucking snowflake millennials.

Was it any wonder women were flocking to older men? They wanted a man in the bedroom and a gentleman on their arm. Someone who knew how to cage them against a wall and pick up a goddamn check.

As I was about to respond, Vivian tapped me on the shoulder again.

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