Page 12 of Scarred Souls

Keeping one hand on the knife, I grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. “You need to apologize.”

Sweat dripped from his brow as he gasped and blubbered. “I’m sorry!”

“Not to me, asshole.” I gestured to the woman on the floor. “To her.”

Looking at her lying there with her long dark hair fanned out across the tiles made my blood boil all over again. It wasn’t unusual for me to lose my cool when someone needed to be taught a lesson, but for some reason unknown to me, this felt different.

“She can’t”—Gonzo swallowed thickly—“she can’t hear me.”

“Yeah. Because you knocked her out, you dumb fuck. Now apologize for hurting her, because I need to hear it. And when she wakes up, I’ll tell her how much you meant it.” I leaned on the handle of the knife, and Gonzo howled.

“I’m sorry, lady. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“You can do better than that.” I twisted the knife, and Gonzo shrieked again.

“I’m really, really sorry! I’m an asshole. A piece of shit. Arghhh!”

“And?”

“And what? I don’t know what you want me to say.” He broke down and sobbed. Pathetic.

I leaned in close and snarled, “You said mean things about her face.”

That had really pissed me off. The hurt look in her eyes. The fact that these oxygen thieves had made her feel like less because of her scars. That was the moment my hand had itched to reach for my pistol and shoot all four of them. The only reason I’d stayed in my seat was because I had hoped they’d leave without my intervention. Despite the satisfaction of teaching these guys a lesson, drawing attention to myself and this village wasn’t a desirable outcome.

Tears streamed down Gonzo’s cheeks, mixing with snot and blood. “I’m sorry for being rude. I won’t do it again. Please, God, make it stop.”

“God’s not listening. Only me, and I’ve got no mercy for a son of a bitch like you. I should kill you for what you did to her. I want to kill you for it. You don’t know how lucky you are that I haven’t already tossed all four of your lifeless corpses into the back of my truck. If we ever meet again, I won’t be so gracious.” I released Gonzo’s hair, and he slumped to the bar.

I figured that ought to be enough to scare them away for good. Someone needed to teach them that if you played stupid games, you won stupid prizes.

When a car came to a skidding halt out front of the restaurant, I ripped the knife from the counter, freeing Gonzo. “Take your pals, and get the fuck out of here.”

He didn’t waste a second following my orders. Using his uninjured arm, he dragged the buzz-cut dipshit through the door, leaving yet another trail of blood. I hauled the other one to the sidewalk for easy pickup.

See? I could play nice.

Their car sped away, so it was time to check on the girl. She was still out cold, but her pulse was steady and strong. There were early signs of swelling where her head had hit the counter, but I didn’t think it was serious. I grabbed a towel from behind the bar and folded it into a pillow, then placed it beneath her head.

I crouched and brushed her dark locks back from the burn scars on the side of her face. An uncomfortable ache tightened my chest. I had enough burns on my body to know how much those injuries must’ve hurt her.

Why did she look so familiar? When I’d been talking to her earlier, I could’ve sworn we’d met before. How goddamn drunk must I have been not to remember where I’d seen this face? Not because of the scars. Because she was beautiful. Long dark lashes surrounded her big eyes. And although her lids were closed, I recalled her unusual gold-flecked amber irises that were so stunning they were hard to look away from. And that mouth. Fuck, I could almost imagine those pink, pillowy lips wrapped around my?—

I stood quickly and cleared my throat. Even I knew it was out of line to go there while she was unconscious.

I found her purse behind the bar. Nothing strange inside. Keys, wallet, phone. Her ID said her name was Hope Garcia Lopez. Twenty-four, address in Playa de la Palmera, cute photo. I took a picture of it before slotting it back into her wallet.

So her name was Hope. Kitten suited her better. Pocket-size, deceptively sweet exterior, and an arsenal of razor-sharp teeth and claws that she was prepared to unleash on her enemies without hesitation. The feral side of her kind of reminded me of…well, me.

Her phone unlocked when I held it in front of her face, and I scrolled through the recent calls and messages. Two people were her main contacts: Daphne and Mari. There were a few calls from someone named Javier, and a bunch of flirty texts from a jackass named Enrique. I frowned as I read them.

How’s your day going, beautiful?

You looked so pretty today.

Miss you, baby. When can I see you again?

I grunted. “How about never.”

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