Page 278 of Branded
Okay, so truthfully, they were really long nails, but they might as well have been claws, digging in with surprising strength considering the lithe, slender blonde seemed to barely weigh a hundred pounds.
God, Cas could have crushed her.
Cas was big and strong and dwarfed me and?—
Was why I was in this predicament.
Right. Focus. Mentally sighing, I tugged at my arm. Unfortunately, the talons didn’t release, Chelsea holding firm.
“Let go of me,” I ordered, keeping my temper in check.
Barely.
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed at my tone, furious sparks in the depths, snapping out, “You need to?—”
“I don’t need to do anything.” I was patient. I had to be. I dealt with drunk assholes on the regular, had a kid I loved, but who tried my patience—also on the regular. But I had no room in my life for this kind of bullshit. I knew, knew Cas had been clear that he didn’t want to see Chelsea anymore—he’d said as much the previous three—yes, three—times that the other woman had shown up at the bar when he’d been here with his teammates.
He hadn’t played any games.
The last time Chelsea had appeared, he’d given her the blunt truth, and he’d done it in front of the table—instead of walking her into the hallway (where I had shamelessly eavesdropped on them) as he’d done on previous visits.
All that being said, I knew this wasn’t some game-playing nonsense from a hockey playboy. He’d been kind on visit one. Firm on number two. Blunt and a little frustrated on visit three. So, there was no reason for Chelsea to be here, thinking she had a chance and generally fucking up my night.
As thus, my temper flared. “Let go,” I growled, “and back up.”
“I said, you need to?—”
“Again, ma’am”—too polite, probably, but I was hanging onto the dredges of my patience by my fingernails—“I don’t need to do anything.” I tugged at my arm again. “Except for my job, which”—I glanced down at the talons digging into my skin and sending pain shooting up my arm—“you’re stopping me from doing. So…you need to back up.”
Outrage across a beautiful face. Those nails digging deeper. “Did you just ma’am me?”
Wow.
Not touching that one.
Instead, I tugged at my arm. Again. And this time, I finally succeeded in freeing myself. Although the action hurt like hell and left me with nail marks—several of them bleeding—on my forearm.
Great. Good times.
Sighing, I stuck out my arm when Chelsea reached for me again, nearly clotheslining the other woman, but at least she slid to a halt…and seriously, there was a whole lot of crazy in the other woman’s eyes.
“You need to go home,” I tried.
“I need Luca?—”
My patience snapped.
I was bleeding and my arm hurt and, dammit, it was fucking late, and I was tired. I wanted to go home to my bed, wanted to sleep. But, most of all, I wanted to be done with this fucking conversation.
“Who’s Luca?” I snapped, my back to the barroom that I needed to get back into…once I could turn away from the clawed woman in front of me.
A talon-tipped finger jabbing in my direction. “You know who he is. Cas. You always flirt with him and then he watches you and I know you’re in love with him.” More crazy in those eyes. “I know it and I hate it, and you need to leave him alone because. He. Is. Mine.” She pushed against my arm. “Mine!”
Apparently, Cas was Luca.
That was…a development.
But I couldn’t focus on it. I needed to get home and save that hour of babysitting. Stat. And maybe I also needed to get away from this woman who saw what I had been trying to hide, saw that I wanted Cas, saw…too fucking much.
