Page 2 of Lucas

Austin throws his head back and laughs. It’s low and malicious, sinking into my bones with a chill that ripples along my spine and makes me shiver. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention.

Get up and leave, Eden.

“I thought maybe you’d had a boob job,” Austin says loudly, his words slurring. “But I guess that’s just a side effect of putting on so much weight.” I bite down on my lip to stop it from quivering, silently begging Austin to quit while he’s ahead. Fat chance. He steamrolls on. “What’s wrong Boss Lady, lawsuit got you all stressed out?”

My entire body tenses.

The comment is a low blow, even if it’s true. With Rubberneckers soon to be on trial for libel, my nerves are shot. Ad sales have dropped, we’ve had to let most of the staff go, and lawyer costs are bleeding us dry. The lawsuit isn’t just draining the company, it’s syphoning from the very foundation of what once made us strong. There’s no oxygen left in the office, just the stifling air of tension, accusation, and fear.

So yeah, maybe I’ve watered it down with Coors Light and a few too many visits to Burger and Barrel. But at least I’m not curled up in the fetal position watching re-runs of Gilmore Girls. That’s more Marnie’s style.

“Get out of here, Austin,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even. I’m precariously close to tears, and fuck if I’ll let this douchebag see me cry. “Before you say anything else you can’t take back.”

Austin slides his empty glass across the counter. “My only regret is wasting time on a cock tease like you.”

Hot anger shoots through me but I don’t even have the chance to pull out my claws. It happens in a blur—tattoo guy leaps off his stool and stands over Austin, chest puffed out, the veins in his neck bulging into thick chords. He’s tall—at least over six feet—and his biceps bulge beneath his gray hoodie. He’s like the fucking Incredible Hulk, a towering hunk of tattooed muscle. His emerald eyes flash, and the next thing I know, he’s grabbing Austin by the scruff of his neck and lifting him up off the floor.

“Apologize to the lady,” tattoo guy says.

The low growl of his voice makes my blood hum.

People all around us stop to watch—whistling, hooting, banging on the tables. Across the room, two bouncers start making their way toward us.

Austin is unfazed, empowered by a shit ton of liquid courage. “Fuck her,” he says. He retracts his neck, bobs his head forward, and spits. A glob of thick saliva lands on my cheek. I wipe it clear with the back of my hand.

“Bad move, tough guy,” says my tattooed knight. He shoves Austin backwards into a table. Beer mugs and champagne flutes hit the floor and shatter. Red wine splays across the white tile like blood splatter.

Austin doesn’t move, but tattoo guy is far from finished with him. He yanks Austin upright by the tie and pummels him with a sharp uppercut. Austin’s face jerks left. Tattoo guy punches him again, a right hook to the jaw, and drops him on the floor.

A cut on Austin’s cheek oozes red. His lips are swollen, one eye is squinted shut. He’s going to be one hell of a hurting unit come morning.

I grip the edge of the barstool so tight my knuckles go white. I’m sure my eyes are bulged right out of my head. I don’t know whether to be shocked or scared.

Tattoo guy kicks Austin in the ribs once.

Twice.

Bile rises to my throat. Jesus Christ, he’s going to kill him.

I jump off the stool and grab tattoo guy by the arm, my fingers unable to penetrate into his thick muscle. He shrugs me loose and levels Austin with another kick. My purse goes flying across the room. The music cuts off, the bar goes eerily silent. Austin curls into himself with a low groan.

The crowd parts to allow the bouncers through and each of them grab one of tattoo guy’s arms. He shrugs free of their grip. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “I’m leaving.”

A hulking bouncer points at me, and then jerks him thumb backward. “You too. Out.”

I glance over my shoulder and offer the bartender a half-hearted shrug of apology. He nudges his chin toward the Exit.

Guess I won’t be showing my face around this place again.

I crouch down low to pick up my purse and sneer at Austin. “Don’t bother coming in tomorrow, asshole. You’re fired.”

Chapter 2

Tattoo guy is leaning up against a wall covered in graffiti, a cigarette dangling from between his lips when I step outside the bar. He shoves his hands inside his front jean pockets, giving off that whole James Dean vibe. My pulse kicks up a notch.

I wrap my arms around myself and rub my shoulders to ward off a chill. “Bit of overkill in there, maybe?”

A ghost of a smile curls his lip up. “Kid’s not dead, right?”