Page 80 of Rough Ride

“I can’t what?”

Another punch.

“Nothing to say?”

Knuckles cracked against flesh.

“Where’s your daddy?” Sawyer asked, eyes bloodshot with rage. “Not so tough without Salmon here to rig the fight, are ya?”

He leaned into the next punch, knocking Appleton to the ground. Sawyer stood over him like a boxer taunting an opponent, then he turned to me. His fist was covered in blood, and then he did something I’d never seen him do before.

He smiled.

“God, that felt good,” he told me. “You all right?”

Before I could answer, the bouncers descended on Sawyer. He didn’t fight back; he allowed them to manhandle him away from the bar.

“It wasn’t him!” Liz shouted, but they didn’t answer. “Wait!”

I stood frozen in place, too shocked to do or say anything.

Sawyer met my gaze from across the room as the crowd parted for the bouncers. He was still smiling.

And then he was gone.

35

Sawyer

Ahahahahahaha.

Goddamndid that feel good.

The bouncers threw me on my ass the moment we were outside. But then police sirens wailed, and before I knew what was happening, I was being handcuffed and thrown in the back of a police cruiser. But I didn’t regret what I’d done. In fact, with every passing second I was more certain that I’d made the right decision.

Sometimes an asshole just had to be punched in the face.

But it wasn’t really a decision, not in the sense that I thought about it before acting. As soon as I saw Appleton approaching Sophie behind the bar, and the way her entire body recoiled from his presence, my feet had a mind of their own. I shoved chanting customers out of the way, desperate to reach her before that piece of shit laid a hand on her.

And even though my knuckles felt like they were on fire, I didn’t regret a damn thing. The only regret I had was that I didn’t get a chance to see what Appleton’s face looked like after I was done with him.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself in the holding cell of the Tarrant County Jail. “Definitely worth it.”

I laid down on the cold cement bench and closed my eyes. It was as far from comfortable as could be, but I immediately drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t just the adrenaline crash, either: it was the calm knowledge that I’d done the right thing, that my conscience was crystal-fucking-clear.

“EASTON!” one of the cops shouted, pulling me out of my sleep. “Get up. Your bail’s been posted.”

“All right, then,” I said, standing up and stretching while the iron bars wailed in protest as the cell door was opened. My back ached; I must have been sleeping for a while. Sure enough, there was sunlight shining through a window we passed in the hallway. It was the next day.

We rounded a corner, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting in a chair in the waiting room was Sophie. She was wearing the same outfit as last night, jean shorts and a short-sleeve flannel button-down. She had her arms crossed and was slumped to the side, sleeping.

Fuck. She was even more beautiful sleeping than she was awake.

“You didn’t have to bail me out,” I said.

Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto me. She stretched her arms over her head and said, “Yeah, I did.” She rose to her feet. “You didn’t have to punch Appleton last night.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I did.”

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