Page 78 of Micah
“No.”
For just a second, genuine surprise flashes across his face.
Then it's gone.
His smile returns.
Meaner this time.
“I say you are. And that’s okay, baby. You can sass me all you want. I like 'em with a little fight.”
Every alarm bell in my body starts screaming.
I take one careful step backward.
“I don’t care what you like,” I reply, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Now let go of my brother and get the hell out of my bar.”
“Sloane, don’t,” Patrick groans.
The scarred man's laugh echoes through the empty room.
“You hearing this boss?”
He shakes his head.
“I don't think you understand what's happening here.”
Another step.
Another.
Until my back bumps the edge of the bar.
No farther to go.
His eyes glitter.
“You see,” he says almost conversationally, “your brother owes some very important people a whole lot of money.”
Ice slides into my veins.
“What?”
Patrick squeezes his eyes shut.
“Sloane, I’m sorry?—”
Patrick tries to apologize, but the man holding him upright gives him a vicious shake.
I stare at him.
Money?
What money?
“Patrick? What is he talking about?”
Patrick won't look at me.
