Page 16 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

Then I shove him at his friends, making sure they feel the weight of his bruised, bloodied body.

I want them to feel it.

I want them to remember.

“Listen up, fuckheads, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. Leave. Her. Alone.”

The table erupts.

“The fuck you do to Tim?!”

“You fucking bastard!”

“He knocked out my goddamn tooth!” Asshole, aka Tim, yelps, spitting the bloody thing into his palm like he expects someone to fix it.

I glance down at it.

Fucking gross.

Then I look back at them, keeping my voice calm.

Controlled.

Deadly.

“Unless you want to start a fight that’ll bring the Council down on our heads, I suggest you stop spitting and hissing like a litter of kittens and shut the fuck up.”

I let that sink in.

One second.

Two.

Then I lean in just enough that they can feel the heat rolling off me—the weight of my Bull, my strength, my absolute fucking certainty that I’d take them all apart if they so much as blink the wrong way.

“Now, when Asshole Tim recuperates, and you all decide you do want a fight, my name is Kian O’Malley.”

I let my name hang there, heavy, undeniable.

“I work for Motley Crewd Ranch. You can find me there any day of the week.”

I scan their faces, memorizing each and every one of these pricks.

“Now, like I said, leave this bar and leave that woman alone. Got it?”

Silence.

Tense.

Fuming.

“Goddamnit! My other tooth is loose!”

Asshole Tim groans like a kicked dog, staring down at his palm full of blood while holding one of his molars in his hand.

Again, gross.

I tilt my head.

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