Page 46 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

They don’t move. They seriously look like they’re about to rip the guy apart.

“Mason,” I say, tapping him on his arm to try to break the death grip he has on the guy’s throat. “Too much fire power. We’re all good here. I’ve got this.”

He looks at me. The ocean-blue eyes have turned steely, deadly. “No, I’ve got this.”

He looks back at the guy, gives his throat one more squeeze, and shoves him roughly against the bar as he lets him go. “You need to leave.”

The guy has recovered enough to stand upright. He’s obviously had a few too many, though, and is feeling a little liquid courage. “Man, why don’t you mind your own business? I’m just trying to buy the lady a drink.”

“Oh, hell no,” Hawk says, taking a gigantic step toward him, as he pushes him back against the bar. The entire team moves toward him.

“Guys, seriously, way too much for one drunk idiot. Stand down.” I block them about as successfully as a ten-year-old trying to guard an entire NBA team.

Mason puts his hand up and they all back off immediately. I’m going to have to get him to teach me how to do that. He looks back at the drunk idiot and says with a gravelly tone that I haven’t heard before, “She is my business. And, I told you to leave.”

The guy seems to finally be sobering up a little bit, at least enough to calculate his odds of being killed in the next few minutes. He starts to walk away. “Yeah, yeah, fine. She’s not even that hot anyway.”

“I’m not that hot? Seriously? Was that really necessary? Hawk, you can hit him now. Seriously, just go crazy on him.”

Hawk smiles, pats me on the shoulder, and consoles me before he and the team walk back over to their table hidden in the corner. “I still think you’re hot, Mills.”

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