“Watch it, asshole.”
The prep stumbled forward and right into her, knocked over the glass of water Ryan had insisted she have, and spilled the damn thing all over her. The coldness of it had her jumping up, but all that did was have the glass falling off the counter and shattering on the ground.
“You just asked for a whole lot of trouble, kid,” Booshie said, but the prep wasn’t so much a kid as he was a twenty-something douchebag.
The next series of events happened so fast Naggie couldn’t even wrap her head around them. Booshie had the guy by the scruff and yanked him away from her. He had him lifted off the ground by his shirt so that only the prep’s toes touched the floor. Everything seemed to grow still and quiet. The biker’s rage was tangible, and she knew Booshie was about to do some serious damage if things didn’t settle down. She didn’t want an all-out brawl.
“You dare to lay a hand on a woman?” Booshie prompted in a slow, even, but hard voice. That sound was even scarier than if he was yelling.
Naggie saw the way Booshie’s knuckles turned whiter the longer he held onto the guy’s shirt.
“You actually put your fucking hands on her like you had the right to.” Booshie didn’t look affected aside from that deadliness that came from him. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were thinking about hitting her.”
The cockiness on the prep’s face vanished as realization set in. “No harm.” He lifted his hand, trying to remove Booshie’s, but it was no use. Compared to the biker, he looked like a child.
“You never put your hands on a woman unless she wants it, and it is clear that one didn’t.” Booshie’s face slowly started to turn fierce and horrifying, and she was actually starting to worry for the asshole who deserved what he was getting right now. “Clearly, you’re as stupid as you look.” But before she could intervene, Booshie let the guy go.
Prep fell to the floor, but he only moved back a few steps and tried to suck in air. Booshie took a step back, rolled his head around on his neck, and then cracked his knuckles. She could tell he was the type of man who didn’t just walk away from an altercation, but then again, he was a Vicious Bastard, and their reputations were hardcore.
When he turned and looked at her, she was stunned speechless and couldn’t even move. But Booshie had been right—the guy was stupid, because he charged and threw a sucker punch in Booshie’s side.
Even from where she stood, she could tell that when the guy hit Booshie, it was like slamming his fist into a concrete wall. And then it was like all hell broke loose as Booshie punched the guy right in the face. Prep’s head cocked to the side, and he fell backward and slid across the floor like he’d been hit with a wrecking ball. Blood instantly spilled from his nose and mouth.
The electricity in the room became charged, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.
“Holy fucking hell, girl.”
She looked at Bennie, not knowing what to say, but feeling this rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She nodded after Bennie spoke and then looked at the scene in front of her again. Booshie stormed over to Prep again, bent down so he could haul the guy up by the neck, and punched him again. Blood covered the younger guy’s lower face and his pale-yellow polo.
But then another biker came up, Tank, one she knew was sergeant at arms for the Vicious Bastards, and hauled Booshie back. He said something to the other man, low and fast, but Booshie still had his eyes on the guy he had beaten the hell out of. More preppy college kids came up and helped their friend off the floor, but at least they were smart enough to leave.
“Damn, I swear there is always some shit that happens,” Ryan said from behind them.
Naggie couldn’t move as she kept her gaze on Booshie. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen her fair share of bar brawls, but this had been something different. She actually felt like Booshie hadn’t just been helping her out, but he had been protecting her in a way mere strangers didn’t really do for each other.
But she supposed it wasn’t like they were really strangers at all, or maybe it was just this weird feeling inside her, because she wanted him in a bad way. And by “in a bad way,” she meant she wanted him to fuck the hell out of her.
He turned away from Tank and slowly moved toward her. He was all muscle, corded and hard, and tensing right below his golden, hard skin. When he was right in front of her, it seemed like the music came blasting back into her, and the voices in the room grew to a normal pitch. The scent of leather, cologne, and even a hint of motor oil from his Harley filled her nose and actually made her wet.
A look around his wide shoulders showed everyone had gone back to what they’d been doing. At least they were smart in that respect. Damn, she had never seen a man wear a pair of jeans, dark T-shirt, or leather biker vest as well as Booshie did.
“Shit, you’re cut.”
His deep voice had her lifting her gaze back to his face, but his focus was on her hand. She looked down, saw that she did have a small cut on the side of her palm, and reached for a napkin. “Damn, I didn’t even realize.” The cut was tiny, but with so much blood smeared on her hand, it
