Page 47 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
He laughs, dark and unsettling. His large step leaves barely a breath between us now.
“You’re not the only wild one. I’m gonna take you here, whether you like it or not.” His hand shoots out and grips my throat so hard I choke.
Fear grips me in a way I’ve never experienced before. But before I can react, a voice pierces my thoughts.
“Did you not hear the lady?”
It takes me a second to realize it’s Bronx Buckley. His great-uncle owns the bar, and I’ve seen Bronx remove a man or two.
Thank fucking god.
“She told you no. She asked you to move.”
Vin pivots to size up the bulk of Bronx behind him, his hand still gripping my throat.
He must feel pretty confident that he can take him, because he says, “You’re stepping where you don’t belong.”
There’s something in the air now, humming with warning, and I know this isn’t going to end with words.
“Are we gonna have a problem here?” Bronx sounds more amused than angry.
Vin makes a motion with his fingers like two legs moving along. “How about you turn around and get the fuck out of here.” His fingers tighten around my throat.
“I was goin’ to tell you to do the same.”
“This doesn’t concern you, friend.”
“We’re not friends.” Bronx casually scratches his beard. “And I suggest you fuck right off.”
Vin shoves me and turns to face Bronx, holding out his arms. “You gonna make me?” But then he throws the first punch.
Bronx lets it land on the side of his face without budging.
I gasp and step back, grasping my neck, rubbing it, trying to erase the lingering feel of his touch.
They’ve got the exit blocked. I debate my options: run out the back door or hide in the ladies’ bathroom. But then it all happens way too fast.
A grunt.
A curse.
Vin swings again, connecting with Bronx’s jaw, but it barely fazes him. He drives a fist into Vin’s ribs, then kicks his legs out. They crash into the wall, knocking framed pictures off their hooks and shattering glass across the floor.
I try to sneak away, but Vin stumbles into the wall right next to me, reaching for me.
I gasp when Bronx’s massive arms circle my waist, and he picks me up out of the way, and a single punch to Vin has him on the floor.
“What the fuck is going on?” The bathroom door crashes open, and Hart barrels into the hallway.
He looks from Vin sprawled out on the floor, to Bronx’s arm snug around my waist.
“Now, get the fuck out of this bar,” Bronx growls.
Vin spits on the floor. “It’s a shithole anyway.”
He throws one last threatening look at us, then shoves off the floor and staggers backward, rubbing his bruising face. “This ain’t over.”
He stumbles down the hallway, glaring at us.
