Page 30 of He Should Be Mine
I raise a brow. “And I’m here to figure out why some of that rent gets lost between here and where it’s supposed to be.”
His face drains of color. He shifts the bag to his other side, suddenly unsure. It doesn’t matter if it is true or not, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Antonio seems the type who is stupid enough to try skimming a bit here and there. But that’s irrelevant. He has enough brain cells to know that merely an accusation is deadly.
Good. I don’t think he’ll tell a soul he saw me here. He’s too busy worrying about his own neck.
“Do your pockets have holes, Antonio?” I murmur. Just to cement my threat.
“No, Dario. I swear.”
A loudcrashslices through the music. A chorus of shouts follows. Glass shatters.
I turn. My stomach lurches.
Molly.
He’s standing on the far side of the bar like the avenging spirit of chaos, dressed in a sapphire-blue mini dress that shimmers with every breath. It clings to him like water. It looks like it was made from starlight and sin.
His legs are long, bare, and lethal. One of his heels is off, the other still strapped to his foot like a weapon.
And he’s holding what’s left of a barstool.
A man lies on the ground in front of him, bleeding from the scalp.
“Molly…“ I nearly say, but he’s already turned, swinging the broken stool leg at another guy.
He’s smiling.
Not sweetly. Not seductively. He looks feral. Electric. Beautiful and terrifying.
People scream. Staff shout. Chairs topple. Another man tries to grab Molly’s arm, and Molly headbutts him.
“Get out of here before the cops come,” I bark at Antonio, not taking my eyes off the fight.
Then I’m moving. Pushing bodies out of the way. A glass explodes against the wall near me, spraying me with something sugary and cold.
Molly kicks another guy square in the chest, sending him flying backwards into a low table. He’s vicious. Savage. A blur of sparkles and fury.
I reach him just as someone else lunges.
I grab Molly around the waist from behind, lifting him off the ground. He thrashes in my arms like a demon, flailing and cursing.
“Let me go, you fucking brute! I want to finish it!!”
“You got to start it,” I growl, as I haul him toward the exit.
He’s kicking so hard I nearly lose my grip. He’s also laughing.
The back alley is blessedly quiet compared to the chaos inside. It smells like beer, cigarettes, and last night’s garbage. I shove open the car door and throw him in the back seat.
He lands in a glittery heap, legs tangled, blond hair sticking to his pink lip gloss.
I jump into the driver’s seat, slam my door and grip the wheel. My hands are shaking.
“You are unbelievable,” I snarl.
Molly beams, utterly unapologetic. “Thanks.”
Then he leans sideways and throws up into his silver designer handbag.
