Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

CHRIS

I used to think living inside a John Ruffian: Pretender episode would be fun, but now that it was sort of happening to me, I realized it was only fun if you were John Ruffian.

When I came awake in Reed's car, the first thing I felt was a kink in my neck from sleeping hunched against the passenger door. The second was an overfull bladder. The third was a sudden, bone-deep terror because I realized I was alone, and I couldn't stop hearing the sound of my name being shouted while gunfire blasted through the air.

I glanced around to get my bearings and noticed we were stopped in the parking lot of an old-fashioned motel. Beside me, a flashing neon sign read Bed-Rock Inn… though with the last light burned out, it looked more like Bed-Rockin', which made me burst into anxious giggles that did nothing to help my bladder situation.

Thankfully, Reed exited the lobby before full panic set in and sent me racing into the night. I popped open the car door as he approached.

"Hey. You hungry?" He shoved a big plastic key ring into his back pocket .

"Um. Not really?" I adjusted my glasses. "I suppose the whole going-home thing is still off the table?"

Reed didn't answer, which kind of was an answer, but his face softened a bit. He tilted his head, gesturing across the narrow country road where a sprawling wood building was lit up and faint sounds of country music escaped from its cracks. A hand-painted "Trickster's Roadhouse, Pittsfield, MA" sprawled across the front of the building in faded red paint.

"C'mon. Motel lady said they've got good burgers, and they serve all night."

It felt like it had to be five in the morning, but I had no idea what time it actually was. When we'd gotten into the car back at the safe house, the dash clock had only read eleven thirty.

I thought back to all of the soup Reed hadn't offered me, and the granola bar he had offered me but I hadn't accepted because I'd believed Reed was a nefarious kidnapper, and realized I was kind of hungry now that he mentioned hamburgers.

It had been an eventful day.

I let him pull me out of the car but almost stumbled because one of my legs was asleep. He released my hand and headed across the abandoned highway. "Let's go."

The painful leg tingling caused me to do a weird hop-shimmy as I hurried to catch up, and I pulled my sweater tighter around me. I wasn't sure where we were, exactly, but it was chilly.

"You think those, um, folks from earlier might be around?" I looked up and down the road for any telltale signs, like headlights or the bright-orange pop of gunshots.

Reed darted a look at me. "We weren't followed if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, no, of course not." I nodded with feigned confidence and tried to will my tension away. "I figured. So, um, about the mistaken identity thing?—"

"Can we not do this right now?" Reed interrupted. "I'm tired and hungry, and I really don't have the patience to have this conversation again."

I felt a very uncharacteristic urge to tell him I didn't have the patience to be dragged all over creation when I didn't need protection… but I was tired, too, so I bit my tongue.

Even though I firmly believed the situation at the safe house had been a coincidence and no one had been coming after me—there was no way in the world my uncle had done any of the stuff Reed said he had, so therefore, there'd be no reason to come for me—I was still feeling a little shaky. I guessed maybe that was normal after a person had spent the early part of the evening thinking he was being kidnapped and then the later part of the evening witnessing a low-key gunfight, but it was the opposite of normal for me .

When we entered the loud roadhouse, it looked like something out of an old movie. Pool tables took up the far-right side of the cavernous space, red vinyl booths skirted the edges of the room, mismatched tables and chairs filled in the space in the middle, and a giant wooden bar spanned the far-left wall. Neon beer logos shone from various spots on the wall, and random sports collectibles spotted all the bare places where there wasn't a beer sign.

It lacked the Bugle's charm, but the place still felt familiar, right down to the sticky floors. It was packed with a familiar assembly of people, too, from bikers, to preppy college kids, to rode-hard barflies shouting at the Bruins on the flat-screen TV to "get the lead out and learn to skate," though they, themselves, looked like they might have gotten winded on the walk from the parking lot.

Heads turned our way as we stepped inside, but most everyone ignored us again within seconds. I spotted the sign for the restrooms and beat a hasty retreat in that direction with a muttered explanation to Reed.

When I returned, I found Reed taking up one side of a booth shoved between the doors to the kitchen and the pool tables.

"Ordered you a chocolate milk," Reed announced as I sat down. He shoved a sticky menu at me. "Pick something to eat."

I lowered the menu to look at him, surprised and touched. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much. You'd be surprised how many places don't serve chocolate milk. How'd you guess it's my favorite?"

He lowered his own menu to stare at me, a spark of amusement in his green eyes. "I was kidding. I ordered you a beer, babydoll." He frowned. "Did you want a chocolate milk?"

Heat flared in my cheeks. "Oh. No. I mean, beer's great, too." I cleared my throat and tried to make it sound gruff and deep. "In fact, beer's way better. H-heck yeah. Good stuff."

I glanced back at the menu but not before seeing Reed's expression soften again.

Gosh, the man was complicated.

On the one hand, Reed Sunday was a total pain in my behind. The whole competent, commanding, grumpy-and-taciturn thing was hot when John Ruffian did it, but it was seriously flipping frustrating when it meant someone was failing to communicate important information (like "Hey, Chris, you're not actually being kidnapped… in case you we re worried about that." ) or failing to listen when you were trying to communicate equally important information (like "Hey, Reed, my uncle's not a criminal, which means you accidentally ‘picked up' the wrong protectee." ).

On the other hand, Reed was kind of great. He was beautiful (which wasn't new news but worth repeating, since I was pretty sure on the way here I'd dreamed John Ruffian came to save me and I'd told him "no, thank you" because Reed was already on the case), but more than that, Reed made me feel safe.

There was no logical reason for this to be true. I'd spent most of our time together trying to seduce him (or, okay, be seduced by him), escape him, question him, or force him to listen to me, and I hadn't been successful at any of those things.

But considering I'd never had the courage to seduce, escape, question, or talk back to… well, anyone ever in my whole life, the very fact that I'd done all those things with a person I'd only known for a handful of hours felt sort of… momentous.

Also, if I was being honest, the way he'd done that click-click thing to check his gun back at the house was the hottest thing I'd ever seen, because it turned out I could hate guns but still appreciate when a brave, muscly person was willing to use one to protect me… which might have made me a giant hypocrite, but here we were.

I startled a bit as an older woman with bright red hair appeared at our table and set down two glasses of draft beer.

"What can I getcha, boys?"

"Oh. Um. Do you have any specials tonight?" I asked politely.

She lifted one eyebrow and sucked a tooth. "The burger's real special. You want special cheese with that? "

"Uh." I glanced back down at the menu. "Sure? But can I get a side salad instead of fries, please?"

Her eyes got squinty. "Burger comes with lettuce already." She turned to Reed. "What about you, handsome?"

"Same, but I'll take the fries. Thanks."

She grabbed the menus and disappeared.

When she was gone, an awkward silence descended—or, at least, a silence that felt awkward to me , probably because I'd been thinking about how sexy Reed was.

Reed didn't seem to feel awkward at all. He was focused on the television across the room, though I got the feeling he was very aware of everything else happening around us. He had that same kind of tiger vibe that Crys gave off, but with Reed, the vibe wasn't scary so much as… scary-attractive.

When I found myself tugging at my sweater cuffs while staring at the open collar of his flannel, watching the way his throat bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed his beer and feeling an answering rhythmic throb in my pants, I gripped the edge of the table and looked away in a panic.

Christoforo Winowski, control yourself .

This whole situation was banana-pants-weird—I'd been adjacent to a gunfight , for the love of John Ruffian—and the only thing that would make it weirder was me thinking spicy thoughts about the man who thought he was supposed to be protecting me.

"So!" I smiled brightly, determined to overcome my awkwardness. "What's the plan after the burgers? What are you planning to do with me?" I sucked in a horrified breath. "I mean, not with me, like… like…" I pressed a hand to my stomach and glanced around the bar, desperate for a conversational life preserver—or perhaps a handy hole to fall into —and noticed the bikers in the corner groaning about what was happening on the television. "Good gosh, those Bruins need to get the lead out , am I right?"

Reed cocked his head. When he really focused those green eyes on me, the effect was hypnotizing. "Hockey fan, are you?"

"Um…" I bit my lip, hesitating, but admitted, "No. More of a figure skating fan, to be honest. I, ah, took lessons when I was a kid for a little while."

He frowned a little. "Why do you sound like you're making a confession? My sister skated for a bit. It's not as easy as they make it look on TV."

"It's really not." I exhaled shakily. Something about big, gruff Reed complimenting the sport hit me hard in the best way. "Pretty cool when you learn how to do something you didn't think you could, though."

"Always." He sipped his beer. "How'd you get into it?"

"Oh. Ha. Funny story." I toyed with my fingers. "When I was about seven, Uncle Danny told me I needed to play a sport. A man needs a physical outlet to hone his mind, Christoforo . Even that young, I think he knew I'd never pick anything really aggressive like boxing or football, but I'm pretty sure he was hoping for baseball or soccer. Maybe even golf." I grinned. "But Nonna and I had this little ritual whenever she wasn't feeling well, where we'd sit on her sofa and watch one of the movies in her collection of VHS tapes, and her very favorite was The Cutting Edge ? — "

Reed groaned.

I laughed. "It's a really good movie. The kind of movie where if you like it, I'll probably like you , you know? Have you ever seen it?"

"Yes," he admitted. "My uncle Drew shares your grandmother's taste in movies. "

"Well, anyway, I loved everything about it. The characters, the romance, the way the big, burly hockey guy learns there's more to life than… you know, pushing people into the walls of the rink?—"

"Checking them into the boards," Reed corrected.

"Sure. So I told Uncle Danny I chose figure skating. I wanted to be a butterfly on the ice." I gave Reed a half smile. "Danny, uh… had some concerns?—"

"I'll bet he did." Reed's nostrils flared. "Guy like him? Bet he had plenty of old-fashioned bullshit opinions?—"

"He did not!" I said, instinctively defending my uncle. "You don't know him, Reed. His concern was that it wasn't practical. It was too many hours away from the family, doing things that wouldn't toughen me up and prepare me for life." I ran my finger down the side of my beer glass. "He used to say that it wasn't safe to be too gentle. If you didn't show people how strong you were, they'd take advantage of you."

Reed grunted. "And don't they?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. But I'd rather be too kind than not kind enough, you know? What's wrong with making the world a little softer and a little prettier for other people?" I shrugged. My uncle had never understood that, so I didn't really expect Reed to either.

But Reed didn't dismiss the idea. Instead, he shrugged a little and said, "Nothing wrong with it," which was so thrilling my whole body went hot and shivery.

"So why'd you stop taking lessons?" he went on.

"Oh, that." I waved a hand. "I was pretty good on the ice, and I even took some dance classes to improve my flexibility, so when I was around ten, I told my coach I wanted to be paired up so I could start doing the cool aerial moves. I' d been working on my salchow, and I wanted to do a throw salchow so badly?—"

"You really just wanted to do the Pamchenko like in the movie, didn't you?" Reed asked dryly. "Admit it."

"Heck, yes." I smiled. "Or, you know, whatever the real-life equivalent was. I knew some other kids had gotten paired as young as nine. But, um… my teacher said it just wasn't feasible for me to do that. None of the other kids, even the biggest ones, were strong enough to handle the lift and the throw, and it would be dangerous to try. And I… I guess I just lost my fire for the sport after that. I mean, if you can't fly like a butterfly, why bother?"

"Why bother?" he repeated softly, his green eyes so intense on mine that no amount of firm warnings to my dick would make it deflate.

I reached for my beer with sweating hands and drained the whole nasty thing in one go.

"Wow," Reed said with a blink. "You do like beer, huh?"

I coughed a little as the last dregs of foam went down my throat, then set my empty glass on the table. The taste was questionable—why people enjoyed carbonated bread juice, I'd never know—but it was a great distraction.

So great that I smiled at the server as she passed and leaned over to ask, "Could I please have a refill, miss?"

She snorted a little and glanced at Reed, almost as if asking for permission, then shrugged. "You got it, kiddo."

The second beer went down easier than the first, and Reed's smile became a concerned frown. "I'm, ah, guessing you're still in shock, or maybe your denial's wearing off. Either way, maybe slow your roll."

The world had gotten the tiniest, loveliest bit hazy around the edges, making it easy to forget things like gunfights, and concerning accusations about my uncle, and how badly I wished I'd gotten to kiss Reed, back when I'd thought there was a chance he was interested in me that way.

"You know how Norm Avery sometimes stands up on the rungs of his stool at the Bugle and yells ‘In beer there is freedom!'?" I licked my lips. "I think I get it now."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Freedom from what?"

From being me , I thought, but I didn't say it out loud. Reed wasn't an overtalking, not-often-but-occasionally distracted, and generally hard-to-take person. When he wanted to accomplish something, he took action, like John Ruffian. When he thought a thing, he said it. He wouldn't understand.

After the server delivered a third beer along with our burgers without me even having to ask—gosh, we really needed to leave her a nice tip—Reed rapped his fist on the wooden table to get my attention. "You asked me before what our next step was."

I blinked at him. "Did I?"

"You did. Two beers ago. And, I want to be clear—everything's going to be alright, Chris. The safe house situation sucked, but it's no big deal in the grand scheme, okay?"

"Sure. No big deal," I agreed, wondering if Reed realized how often he said that.

"I've got you," he continued, "and we're gonna stick to the plan."

Reed was so sweet, and he looked so darn serious, but when he said, "stick to the plan," I couldn't help giggling a little. Until I'd gotten into Reed's car a few hours ago, my plan had been to start a side hustle as a charcuterie maker, and I'd considered it a wild, oat-sowing adventure. I'd sure as heck never planned on Reed Sunday.

And there was a good reason for that.

"Do you suppose there's a bus station in this town?" I wondered, chewing one of the french fries I hadn't thought I wanted.

If Reed dropped me at a bus station, I had enough money to cover a ticket… assuming I could figure out where to go. The Hollow was probably the right option, but being around Reed's family would feel weird now. I could go back to New Jersey, but with Danny's house closed up and the Cellar gone, it would be pretty hecking lonely and would worry my uncle if he heard about it. That was how he'd gotten me to go in the first place, even though I really hadn't wanted to. You'll be lonely, Christoforo, and I'll worry . And I'd agreed because… well, because I always agreed.

Reed's green eyes narrowed, and he waved a hand in front of my face. "Focus, Chris. I'm going to make some calls and find us a new safe house?—"

"Reed." I sighed, pushing up my glasses. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, since I appreciate that you communicated a clear boundary in saying that you didn't want to discuss the whole, um, uncle thing?—"

"No, I'm done arguing with you about it." He set his jaw. "Our safe house got attacked by people looking for you?—"

" Or maybe no one was looking for me at all and it's a… a coincidence that someone called my name! And, yes, maybe it seems like a weird and unlikely coincidence, I grant you—" I hurried on when it looked like he was going to interrupt. "—but no weirder than anything else that's happened to me today, getting p-picked up and kidnapped?—"

"You were not fucking kidnapped!" Reed exclaimed, eyes dark and cheeks suddenly flushed. He darted a glance to the side to make sure no one overheard and leaned forward before continuing in a harsh whisper, "You were not being held against your will. You got in that car on your own."

My face flamed. "Yes. Technically. But I didn't know where we were going, and I didn't know there were going to be guns involved, and I didn't know you were going to tell me my uncle isn't who I thought he was, and my whole life isn't what I thought it was, and now I can't go h-home." My voice cracked. "This isn't me. I'm a very boring person."

He snorted. "Bullshit."

"It's not," I assured him. "I'm a charcuterie specialist. I like recommending wine pairings. I like talking to shoppers. I don't go to wild parties. I don't have adventures. I have never thrown an ax. Heck, Danny didn't let me take over the Cellar when he retired because he thought I was too s-soft. Too soft to run this business , Christoforo . That's what he said when he told me he was selling the place. And I…" I pressed my lips together because I was suddenly afraid I might cry. I blamed the beer. And possibly also the gunfight.

I took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not arguing with you, Reed. I'm not, because I hate arguing, so I don't argue… er, generally. I'm simply saying that you can't expect me to stay with you?—"

"Then you're going to wind up hurt!" Reed scrubbed both hands over his face. "Fucking fuck . How the hell am I supposed to protect a person who insists on tra-la-laing around like life is a field of daisies and rainbows?"

Stung, I straightened in my seat. "That's not what I'm doing?—"

"Yes, it fucking is," he snapped. Fiery green eyes fixed on me, and a pair of big, strong hands reached across the table, grabbing mine and stilling the nervous fluttering I hadn't even been aware of. "You could be hurt in a million ways, Chris. You could be kidnapped for real. Held as insurance so your uncle won't testify. And the things they could do to you…" He inhaled sharply and gripped my hands so tightly I squeaked.

He released me immediately and straightened, his face closed off. "Get your head out of your ass," he said sharply. "Because you might think this whole ‘sweet and lovable' act makes me think you're innocent, but it just makes me think you're stupid."

I sucked in a breath as the word ricocheted around the table and lodged itself beneath my heart.

It probably shouldn't have felt like such a blow. Heck, Reed's comment wasn't even the worst or most embarrassing thing that had happened to me that day. But something about hearing it from his lips after I'd tried to be so honest with him, after he'd been so supportive about the other things I'd told him, after I'd thought we were… well, connecting … made my eyes burn and my whole chest crumple.

Maybe Uncle Danny was right. Maybe I was too soft.

But in that moment, I didn't feel soft. In fact, for the first time I could remember, I didn't feel the need to brush off Reed's comment so things wouldn't get awkward or roll with the punches and hide my hurt with a smile. I was hurt, but I was also really angry.

"Fuck," Reed growled, squeezing his eyes shut. "I didn't mean that?—"

"It is not stupid to believe the best of people, Reed Sunday," I said, quiet but firm. "And it's never stupid to be loyal to your family."

"It is when it's going to get you killed—" Reed reached up and grabbed his hair with both hands, yanking at the dark, wavy strands. "No. You know what? I said we weren't talking about this again, and I meant it. All that matters is that you're my protectee and I'm your protector. Your job is to do what I say." He picked up his burger and jabbed it in my direction. "End of story."

I'd never had a temper. Being angry and letting myself feel it was new to me. I didn't know how to handle the hot, clean fizz that choked my blood. And… it turned out there was kind of a learning curve. Because despite being truly incandescently angry at Reed Sunday, with his handsome face and his strong hands and his quirky smile and his big mouth, when I thought about lashing out at him, my mind continued down the same track it always seemed to take with Reed.

I envisioned myself kissing the heck out of him.

Except, like, angrily .

Since I definitely—almost definitely—wasn't going to do that, I climbed out of the booth on shaky legs and stuck out my chin. "I no longer consent to being protected, Mr. Sunday. I… I release you."

He snorted around his burger. "Doesn't work that way, Daenerys. This isn't Game of Thrones , and I'm not your servant. Sit down."

"No."

He cast his eyes to the ceiling. "And where are you gonna go, Chris? You have no phone, no car, and no ability to stay out of trouble for more than two minutes—or do I need to remind you again that people were shooting at us a couple of hours ago?"

I definitely didn't need to be reminded of that.

I cast my eyes around the room. The college kids had left, and the guys at the bar seemed a bit too interested in the game for conversation, but there was a table of three women sort of close to where the rowdy-looking biker crew was hanging out. They had a spare chair at their table.

Normally, I'd never be so impolite as to interrupt them, but at the moment, it seemed like the lesser evil.

"For now, I'm going over there," I informed Reed, pointing. I picked up my beer… and, on second thought, grabbed the remainder of my meal, too. Reed didn't deserve my extra fries.

"For fuck's sake. Get back here," I heard him say as I marched away, but I didn't listen.

And it felt really dang good to not listen. Who knew?

"H-hi, excuse me," I said as I approached the ladies. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Three sets of eyes swung toward me in surprise, then surveyed me up and down.

The oldest-looking of them leaned to one side and aimed a glare back at Reed. Her eyes narrowed. Then she looked at me. "Y'okay, cutie?"

I nodded. Then shook my head. Her concerned voice made my burning tear ducts threaten to overflow.

"Aw. Sit, honey," a blonde woman said, pushing out the empty chair. "Boyfriend trouble? Join the club."

"N-no. Reed's not my boyfriend. He's…" I broke off with a head shake. The story was too wild to be believed anyway. "I only met him today. And I thought he was into me, but he wasn't really." I sighed. "He wanted something very different than I thought."

"I bet I know exactly what he wanted," the third woman said bitterly. She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, her eyes red-rimmed but fierce. "Same thing men always want. You're adorable, sweetheart, and men are pigs."

"Uh… thank you. Are you alright?" I asked.

The blonde woman leaned over to pat her friend's hand. "Amber's having trouble with her old man, Knuckles," she confided, aiming a dark look at the bikers' table.

Following her glance, I adjusted my glasses and immediately spotted an older gentleman with long gray hair who wore a black leather vest over his naked chest. His vest had the word "Knuckles" embroidered right on the front like a name tag, which was cool. He also had a very young lady in a very small top practically perched on his lap, which was… not.

"I see." I winced and reached over to grip Amber's other hand. I pushed my plate toward her. "French fry?"

Amber laughed, but it sounded watery. "No, thanks. In fact, I think we might need shots. Cheri, can you?—?"

The older woman stood. "On it."

She returned a moment later with a bottle of Fireball and four empty glasses. "It's my night off, but I work here," she said by way of explanation as she set a shot glass in front of each of us.

"Oh. Wow. Thank you. But I've already had two beers…" I gestured toward my half-empty glass. "Or, um, two and a half, if I'm being honest. And I don't drink, as a general rule, so…"

"You do tonight." Cheri filled my little glass to the top.

I resisted the urge to peek over my shoulder at Reed, though I could sense his disapproval and frustration radiating across the room.

"Because we deserve to be appreciated for who we are, not shit on 'cause we're not who they want us to be," the blonde lady proclaimed, raising her glass in a toast.

"Because some men—" Amber lifted her own glass. "—are bossy, mistrusting know-it-alls, and I say fuck 'em."

And if that wasn't the truth, I didn't know what was, so I followed Amber's lead and gulped the whole shot at once.

"Six months." Amber brushed away a tear. "I gave that asshole six months of my life. I thought we were committed. I thought it was love."

I shook my head sadly, and the movement almost made me fall out of the chair. I'd started to notice that the chairs were really wobbly two shots ago, but I didn't want to say anything about it in case that was rude.

I also refused to look over my shoulder, though I knew Reed was still there because from time to time, I could feel a pair of green lasers burning a hole in my sweater.

"What did Mr. Knuckles do?" I demanded. I was trying to whisper, too, but by the way Cheri and Gina—the blonde lady—jumped, I wasn't sure I'd succeeded.

Amber's lip quivered. "He saw me chatting with a customer at the salon where I work. I was only trying to sell the guy hair product! I wasn't even flirting!" She sniffled. "Or… okay, maybe I was, a little, but when you act interested, guys buy more, you know? I maybe did that thing where I pulled my top down a tiny bit?"

"That's a thing?" I wondered, worrying at the cuffs of my sweater.

"Sure," Gina said. "Show some skin and men go cross-eyed. But only an asshole thinks that means you're giving free samples."

Cheri and Amber agreed vehemently, so I nodded, too, as though I'd ever attempted to show skin or give anyone a free sample of anything but a nicely aged Gouda.

"I thought… I guess I thought Knuckles might be a little jealous," Amber went on. "But jealousy can be a good thing?—"

I frowned. "Can it? "

"Oh, hell yeah," Cheri said. "Spices things up. Makes a man confront his feels, too. You should try it."

Huh .

I pointedly didn't glance back at Reed as I filed this information away. Reed was bossy and unkind, and I was definitely not interested in him… much.

The wires in my brain needed to uncross themselves immediately.

"But when Knuckles saw me talking to that guy, he accused me of cheating on him. As if I ever would! I tried to explain tonight, but he totally ignored me. And then that woman came over to him, and he… he…" Amber broke off with a sob. "I don't know how to make him understand."

Cheri wrapped an arm around Amber's shoulder. "He's a fool, honey."

"Yeah. I think you're way cooler than she is," I agreed loyally. I peeked at the bikers' table to find that while Knuckles still had the other woman draped against his shoulder, he kept glancing over at Amber like he hoped she'd notice.

So rude.

I felt my anger against rude and mistrustful men intensify.

"You think so?" Amber asked me.

"Of course. You're kind and intelligent, and your hair is beautiful ," I said. "And you did nothing wrong!"

My voice might have been a bit too loud again since people at nearby tables glanced my way and I felt the heat of a certain green-laser glare intensify, but I was speaking truth, gosh dang it, and I would not be silenced. "It's not fair when people think they know who you are better than you do?—"

"Preach," Gina said.

"And it doesn't matter how nice he seemed to be when you first met him, or how handsome he is?—"

"Huh. I dunno if I'd call Knuckles handsome," Cheri muttered.

"Cheri!" Amber chided.

"—or how tall he is?—"

Now, Amber frowned. "Well, Knuck's not tall, per se…"

"—or how… how competent he is?—"

Gina wrinkled her nose. "Competent's not the first word that comes to mind to describe Knuckles?—"

"Or how tall he is," I continued.

"Sweetie, you already said tall." Cheri looked at me in concern.

"And…" I pushed up from the table with such violence the whole floor swayed. "He should apologize for not believing you and for saying mean things," I declared. "I'm going to tell him so."

As I marched over to the bikers' table, I heard a panicked female voice say, "Oh, shit," and a panicked male voice say, "Jesus fucking Christ," but I didn't pause or hesitate.

"Excuse me, Mr. Knuckles?" I said loudly.

The gray-haired man—who had to be uncomfortably cold with only that vest on, which maybe explained some of his negative attitude—narrowed his eyes at me. "The fuck're you?"

"My name is…" I hesitated, concerned that I might give Reed an actual heart attack since the man was still wrongheadedly convinced I was being targeted. "Unimportant right now," I concluded. "What's important is that I'm here to avenge Amber."

He slow-blinked at me for a second. "Avenge her. "

"That means I'm here to address your wrongs on her behalf," I added in a lower voice since he seemed confused.

"I know what the fuck it means ," Knuckles said hotly. "If Amber wants to talk to me, she can do it herself."

"But will you listen?" I blurted. "Because… the truth is, Mr. Knuckles, you've been unfair in the extreme."

"Are you kidding me right now?" he demanded. He turned to one of his associates, who wore a matching vest. "Is he kidding me, Grim?"

"He better be kidding," Grim growled, pushing to his feet. "Or he's got fucking brass balls and a death wish."

"That it, kid?" Knuckles asked me curiously. "You got brass balls?"

I shook my head, then had to do a little shuffle-step when the floor tilted. "N-no, sir. I just know what injustice feels like." I pressed a hand to my heart. "I'd bet a powerful person like yourself has never been called a liar. O-or stupid. But words can hurt?—"

Knuckles, whose chest had puffed up at being called powerful, scowled ferociously. "Hold up. I ain't ever called Amber stupid. Only an asshole would do that."

I fought the urge to look back at Reed. "I agree."

"Yo, you don't know what you're talking about, Big Brass. Amber's a cheater," another of the bikers spoke up.

"She's not." I kept my gaze on Knuckles. "She would never cheat on you, Mr. Knuckles. She loves you, and she deserves better than to watch you canoodle with another woman. It's cruel." I winced guiltily at the woman draped over his shoulder. "No offense to you, of course. I'm sure you're a lovely person."

She nodded and straightened.

Grim jumped to his feet and gave me a threatening glower. "Don't talk shit about Knuckles." He shoved my shoulder—not particularly violently, but enough to make me glad I was holding the back of the chair in front of me so I didn't topple. "Go siddown, kid."

But I couldn't. My gaze remained locked on Amber's one true love. "You might not think you're being cruel, Mr. Knuckles. I understand that sometimes people say things in anger that they really shouldn't say. That doesn't make them a bad person, but they do need to apologize and make amends. For example, my uncle Danny is a very caring person. He sometimes cries at Bruce Springsteen songs. But when my cousin Nicky got suspended from school for fighting, Danny was so angry he said, ‘You'd know better if you were a true Fromadgio, Nicolas.' And Nicky was so upset he?—"

"You're a… you're a Fromadgio?" Spike's eyes went wide. "Wait, shit, when you say Danny , do you mean?—"

"Grim, you asshole." A biker stood and cuffed Grim on the side of the head. "You assaulted Dante the Cheese's blood."

"Excuse me, that's not a nice way to talk about—" I began.

"I wasn't assaulting him," Grim protested, glancing around at his friends with panicked eyes. "I wasn't! I was protecting Knuck."

"How's he gonna be protected when Dante comes after him?" one of the others shouted, sliding his chair back. "Now we're all fucked!"

"No, that's not—" I protested, but they were too busy shoving and bellowing at each other.

One of the regulars pushed off his barstool and turned. "Can you assholes shut the fuck up? I can't hear the game with you yelling. "

A biker faced off against him, shoving him back against the bar. "Who're you calling an asshole, asshole ?"

I wasn't entirely sure, afterward, who threw the first punch, but I did know it took only half a minute until the whole bar was engulfed in a melee. Fists flew, beer glasses sailed through the air. A man in a golf shirt was thrown across Amber's table, and when his head ended up in Cheri's cleavage, all three women jumped up and unleashed bloodcurdling screams.

I stood frozen in shock as the fight flowed around me, rowdy bikers facing off with enraged sports fans while bartenders hopped around, trying to control the chaos. I didn't know who to help or how to help them or even which way I should turn to get to safety. But then Reed was there, right in front of me, Sunday-green eyes locked on mine, and suddenly, I was able to move again, to breathe again.

"Come on," he shouted, propelling me toward the door.

I nodded, but before I could move, someone in a leather vest knocked into Reed, sending his elbow into Reed's jaw and making Reed's head snap back.

Reed's nostrils flared, and in one fluid motion, he delivered a punch that made the man's eyes roll back in his head.

I abhorred violence—honestly, no kidding, hated it—but I couldn't deny that something about the move made my muscles clench with want. I really am a hypocrite , I thought with a sigh.

"Move, Chris," Reed insisted. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me bodily toward the door. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Jesus fucking Christ. My protectee started a goddamn bar brawl—" He shoved the door open without a word.

"I did not start a brawl," I protested. "I was righting a wrong! I was doing a good deed. Did you see how Knuckles was protecting Amber and her friends back there? How he had his arms wrapped around her? He loves her, and once I pointed it out to him, he really saw the error of his ways. It was beautiful."

Reed carried me out into the parking lot without slowing down or letting go.

"Besides, would you call what happened a brawl , really? I think at most it was a… a minor altercation."

He set me on my feet once we reached the road, but only so he could grab my wrist and tow me through the night to the motel.

"It was a small, contained misunderstanding… with regrettable fisticuffs," I decided as Reed paused to grab his bag from the car before tugging me around the corner past a little alcove of vending machines toward one of the motel's numbered doors. "A low-key—seriously negligible—accidental… tussle."

The world was still spinning a little, and it was really flipping cold, except for the very hot spot on my wrist where Reed's fingers were wrapped around me.

"You're going to be the death of me, Chris Winowski," Reed muttered. "You really might."

Huh . Who knew Reed was so dramatic? I decided not to comment on it since he'd gotten me out of the tussle pretty effectively, and I figured I owed him one. Also, I had to admit that no matter how angry I was with him—and I was for sure still angry—when Reed touched me, I felt good. Grounded. Safe.

Unfortunately, I also felt lots of other things, too. Inappropriate things. Things that made me want to rub my chin against Reed's neck just to feel the bristles, and trace the hard lines of his muscles with my fingertips, and know how his lips tasted. Things that made me ache to know what it was like to have someone's body and hands on mine. Things that made my cock hard and my thoughts flutter like butterflies in a windstorm.

Things I needed to stop thinking—and totally, absolutely would stop thinking—just as soon as I put some distance between myself and Reed, let my logical brain take over again, and got my cock to settle the heck down.

Unfortunately, the moment Reed opened the motel room door, I realized things weren't likely to settle down.

Not hecking likely at all.