Page 9 of Sweet Conviction

He touches my ass without permission, and there are consequences, but suddenly he's the victim. Typical. I guess assholes and creeps are the same in every part of the United States—same tired lines, same tired moves, same tired victim complex. Ugh.

"Yeah, because you slapped my ass first, you basement-dwelling idiot. And I know you probably don't comprehend bigwords with that small brain, so I'll use little ones. That's bad. You go to jail for things like that." I jab my finger into his chest, causing him to stumble again.Jeez. How much has he had to drink? "So do us both a favor and don't ever put your hands on me or anyone else ever again."

Hatred sparks in his dilated blue eyes. "Someone needs to teach you some manners, you stupid little—"

He raises his hand, and for a split second, I'm sure he's going to hit me.

"You motherfucker!"

Strong arms close around me from behind, snatching me out of the way. Before my feet are even on the ground, Dalton plows into the cowboy, tackling him. They land on the floor in front of me, the cowboy on his back.

The cowboy doesn't have time to react before Dalton drives his fist into his face, snarling like a wild beast. "Don't ever fucking raise your hand to my fiancée again, motherfucker," he growls, punctuating each word with another punch.

Fiancée. He just called me his fiancée. The word bounces around my head, sending my mind spinning.

Or maybe that's the beer and the violence talking. Or the fact that I was nearly just hit by an asshole cowboy who clearly never learned that women aren't property for his taking.

"Hey! Let him up, you sorry prick!"

"Get that motherfucker!"

Oh no. This is bad.

I watch in horror as the cowboy's friends rush forward in a stumbling, roaring group, aiming right at Dalton, who still has their friend pinned to the floor.

"Dalton!" I cry sharply as one of them—a big guy in an even bigger belt buckle—takes a wild swing at him. "Look out!"

Brantley and Priest leap over Dalton, intercepting Belt Buckle…and all hell breaks loose. Several others rush forward,trying to help keep the cowboy's friends off Dalton. Others try to pull Dalton off the cowboy. It's a hot damn mess—my first bar fight.

Southern boys are built different, especially the gorgeous billionaire in the center, still roaring at the cowboy like a pissed-off, angry bear.

I stand frozen in the middle of the chaos, his words still reverberating through me. He just called me his fiancée. In front of all these people.

Maybe I haven't lost everything after all. Maybe, just maybe, there's still a…

"Enough!"

I jump a full foot into the air when a booming voice cuts through the fray, my head whipping to the right. My heart falls all the way to my feet.

The police are here. Crap.

Two officers stride forward, onlookers parting like the freaking Red Sea to let them through. One of them heads straight for Dalton, hauling him off the battered cowboy.

I don't think Dalton realizes the man is a cop because he takes a swing at him, growling a curse.

"Dalton, man, chill!" Brantley warns him, but he's beyond hearing, beyond caring.

The officer whips him around and slams him face-first against the wall, twisting his arm up behind his back.

Dalton tries to throw him off.

"That's enough, Grady!" the cop barks in his ear. "You're already going to jail. Don't make it worse for yourself, man."

Oh God.This can't be happening.

My stomach plummets through the floor as Dalton struggles against the officer's hold, fighting to get free.

I take a step in that direction, intending to do…something to help. But Priest hooks an arm around my waist, stopping me in my tracks.

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