Page 70 of Rope Me In

I step forward again, the simmering anger inside me that is always waiting to boil spreading heat through every part of my body. The reasons Presley wanted to stay clothed, to not have me touch her stomach, why she was worried about her weighton my legs and me helping her on the horse today—it all makes perfect sense now. I want to beat this guy’s face to a pulp.

Presley tugs on my bicep, but it doesn’t stop me from getting in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I seethe.

“Step the fuck back,” Derek barks, drawing more attention to us. He’s taller than me, but I’ve got a lot more bulk on him. And now that I’m this close, I know he’s drunk. I can smell alcohol and what I’m assuming is weed on his breath.

“Make me,” I say.

“I’m talking to my girlfriend. This is our business.”

I try not to flinch at the words coming out of his mouth, but he notices my reaction.

“This bitch not tell you?” He cackles like a wicked witch.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt, and his body jostles from the force. I’m blinded with rage now, a rage I’ve only felt once before: the night I found out Gavin had been lying to us. But the rage isn’t because he called her his “girlfriend”—it’s because of how he’s speaking about Presley overall. Whether they’re in a relationship or not, I’m going to stand up for her. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit and called disgusting names.

“Kade!” Presley cries quietly, pulling on my arm again. “He’s not worth it.”

The pleading and desperate tone of her voice manage to worm their way through the ominous emotions coursing through my veins, helping me remember where I am and who I’m with. If Presley doesn’t want me to pummel this douche, I won’t.

I relax my fist and release my hold on him. As soon as he’s free, Derek steps back and fixes his shirt, brushing at it like he’s wiping away dirt. The band keeps playing despite the drama unfolding. “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by The Charlie Daniels Band is fitting for this moment.

Derek eyes the stage then glares at Presley. She looks smaller and meeker than the woman I’ve come to know. Despite herawkwardness at first, she’s never been meek with me. That was what drew me to her in the first place.

Derek rubs his hands together excitedly like he just won the lottery. “I’m glad I came to see this. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Presley swallows, following Derek’s gaze—he’s eyeing the fiddle player—before she looks back at him. “To see what?” she asks.

I hate how scared her voice sounds. It makes me want to pull her in my arms and hide her away from the world. Especially from this piece of shit.

“To see how far you’ve fallen.” He smirks then takes a step back. I think he’s going to walk away, but then he makes a big show of pointing at Presley and raises his voice. “This woman right here, Ladies and Gents, is one of the best fiddle players in the country, and she threw it all away for some cowboy’s dick!”

Several people gasp, and the band stops playing at the commotion. I’m faintly aware of the sound of chairs scraping against the wood floors and Tim moving out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t think for another second—I just send my fist flying into Derek’s face. To his credit, he doesn’t go down like I thought he would, but the force of it has him stumbling back.

“Oh my god, Kade!” Presley cries.

Derek’s hands fly up to his now bloody nose. His feet move to charge at me, but Tim and Jake are suddenly there, grabbing the lanky man by the arms.

He struggles against them. “Let me go! He assaulted me, for fuck’s sake!” Derek screams.

Chants of “Throw him out!” travel through the crowd as he continues to fight against my friends’ hold. The veins in his neck bulge from the effort.

“You both okay?” Jake asks. He holds on to Derek tighter, his face neutral as if he’s not holding back a struggling man.

I shake out my hand as I check on Presley. I expect her to look embarrassed, but instead she looks livid, eyes full of fire and jaw like marble. But her gaze isn’t directed at me—she’s glaring at Derek.

“Presley?” Jake asks.

She doesn’t answer him. Her furious stare is now locked with Derek’s as he continues to squirm like the worm he is.

“Presley,” Derek says, his voice gentler now. “Tell these bastards to get their hands off me. I’ll take you back home. You can fix this.”

I watch the scene unfold carefully, ready to step in if she needs it. But by the way she squares her shoulders and the determined shine in her eyes, I think she’s got whatever she’s planning handled.

With two short strides, she’s in front of Derek.

In a bold move, the asshole smiles at her sweetly, gaze softening, as if he thinks that will manipulate her into doing whatever he wants. Presley leans forward so they’re close, a smirk on her lips that, if I were Derek, would send alarm bells dinging in my brain. But the asshole has the audacity to look as if he’s won, like her closeness means she’s going to kiss him.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Derek?” she spits, her voice unlike I’ve ever heard from her. Gone are her velvet tones, and in their place is a raspy anger. “I’m not your fucking girlfriend! You are a lying”—she stabs her pointer finger into his chest—“cheating”—she pokes him again, so hard he groans—“piece of shit!”

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