Page 63 of Aria

Luckily, Tad’s voice broke through the budding argument. “Hey, who the fuck is that guy?”

Deciding to let the barb go, I leaned back in my seat and surveyed the crowded room. “What guy?”

“That dude over there keeps staring at us. I’m used to the women, but that motherfucker is creeping me out.”

My eyes landed on a twenty-something man with light blonde hair. He was wearing a red and black plaid shirt with scuffed jeans and a menacing scowl. He had a chiseled jawline, prominent nose, and there was an icy look in his dark eyes. He was perched against the bar with a beer in his hand, staring right at us.

“Just some fan, my man.” Devon burst out laughing. “Shit, that rhymed.”

I rolled my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t be on lead singer duty tonight. Devon was already intoxicated.

“He doesn’t look like a fan,” Miles observed. “He looks like he wants a piece of us. Should we kick his ass?”

“Maybe he wants apieceof us,” Devon snickered. “It’s not just women who want to get in our pants.”

Frowning, I looked back over at the mystery man. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off our group, specifically Devon.

“Fuck, he’s coming over here,” Tad said.

The stranger approached our table, his group of brutish minions trailing behind. With a weary sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to have a peaceful night, after all.

“Look at these fucking jokesters,” the man said, folding his arms over his puffed-out chest.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Miles stood up from his seat, ready for a fight.

I extended my arm in an attempt to block Miles from pouncing. “Can we help you?”

“Well, well, well… Devon Sawyer in the flesh,” the ringleader sneered. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

One of the man’s cronies stepped forward with a grin. “He looks a lot smaller in person, huh, Ian?”

Devon jumped from his seat as my skin prickled.

Ian.

The name sent a shiver down my spine.

The notion of him beingtheIan seemed impossible, but the charge in the air reeked of bad intentions. This Ian character looked to be the right age, and his eyes shimmered with cruelty. “Your name is Ian?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” Ian spit to his left. “Unless you’re Devon Sawyer, get the fuck out of my way.”

I stepped forward, getting right in the man’s face.

I had to know.

“Dude, who is this asshole?” Devon wondered, moving in beside me. “You know him?”

Ignoring him, I continued to bore holes into the man. “Answer me.”

“Yeah, so what? My name is Ian.” He looked back at Devon with a smirk. “Your buddy has something of mine. I want it back.”

My chest hummed with awareness; I felt it in my bones.

This was the man who’d destroyed, abused, and demoralized Chelsie Combs. This was the man who’d stolen her innocence—who’d beaten, raped, and terrorized her.

A surge of red-hot adrenaline coursed through my veins.

Instinct and vindication for Chelsie took over, and I lunged, tackling Ian to the bar floor and pummeling him with my fists.

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