Page 21 of Mountain Champion
Angel shakes her head again.
And despite common sense telling me to stay put, instinct is urging me forward.
I don’t like this,my gut insists.These guys are trouble at the best of times. And a few beers in? I don’t care that this is a public place or that Angel’s probably dealt with rude customers before. They’re making her uncomfortable, and I?—
Phil lurches out of his seat, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.
He yanks the tray from Angel’s hands and drops it on the floor.
Her voice rises enough for me to hear it across the room. “Stop it,” she snaps. “You need to leave. Now.”
And now I’m moving.
Hands balled into fists, jaw tight, blood running hot.
Not running, but not walking, either.
I’m halfway across the room when Phil slurs, “Who do you think you are, telling me how much I can drink?”
“You can drink however much you want,” she retorts. Her voice is firm at first, but by the end, there’s a nervous shake to it. “Just not here.”
Phil’s expression goes dark. “Who do you think you are? My fucking mom? Telling me what I can do?”
“Phil,” Bryan starts. “Leave her alone. She’s just doing her job.”
“Doing her job by being a bitch?” Phil snaps. Then he scowls at Angel. “You’re one to talk about drinking too much. We all know how you got knocked up. Do you even know who the father is, or were you too drunk?”
Angel’s shocked gasp is audible. Her expression shifts from shock to hurt, and then to anger.
And now I’m running. Weaving around tables. My pulse is pounding in my ears. The hundred or so ways I learned to kill a man race through my mind.
“Leave.” Angel points at the door. Her face is bright red, and her eyes flash with anger. “Now.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, you interfering bitch!” Phil shouts. And then he lunges forward and shoves Angel hard. She tries to catch herself as she stumbles back, but goes down hard with a yelp of pain.
A film of red drops over my vision.
Scalding rage roars through my body.
Sprinting the rest of the way there, I leap at Phil with a roar of anger. “Don’t you touch her!” I snarl. “Ever!”
Moving on instinct gained from decades of training, I grab Phil and put him into a chokehold. With my arm tight enough around his neck to scare him but not actually cut off his air—as much as I’d like to—I slam him against the wall hard enough for the lights on the ceiling to rattle.
Then I spin him around again and brace my forearm against his throat. Leaning over him so our faces are level, I growl, “Don’t you ever. Fucking. Touch. Her.”
“He’s drunk,” Bryan explains weakly. “I gave him my beer. Since I’m trying to cut back?—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I grit out while pinning Bryan with a dangerous glare. “No one touches her. No one.”
Then my gaze shifts to Angel, who’s just getting up from the floor. She’s pale. Her eyes are wide and startled. Once she’s standing, she hugs herself, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her.
All at once, a surge of protectiveness rushes through me, more intense than anything I’ve felt before.
I want to take her in my arms. Pick her up and carry her out of here. Take her home where I can take care of her and make sure no asshole ever touches her again.
“She started it,” bleats Phil. “She?—”
“Shut. Up.” Conscious that everyone in the room is watching, I only just stop myself from punching him. “Just shut up.” Glancing back at Angel, I gentle my tone. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
