Page 7 of Savage Protector

Yes, and his intel was never wrong. “This isn’t a cut-and-dried job,” I explained since I’d never shared the details of what I found two nights ago or what I’d done to that stranger. I was not a fan of being questioned by one of the men whose paycheck I signed. Irritation leaked into my voice while I gripped the wheel tighter. “I’m still handling this on my own. No interference.”

“Of course,” he was quick to reply. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Whether he did or not changed nothing. I couldn’t report back to Dominic until I was sure he was after Scarlett for her protection and not his own.

4

SCARLET

“It was pretty gruesome, or so I’ve been told.” Richie shook his head while wiping down the bar. “The guy got what was coming to him based on the way he was treating you alone. He must have screwed with the wrong person. I only wish I could shake the hand of whoever gave him that beating.”

I had come close to doing that. “And there’s no footage? They’re sure the camera out there wasn’t working?” Why did it matter so much? I didn’t owe that stranger my silence, even if he’d rescued me. He had chosen to use that level of violence. I was sick of violence.

But I still wanted him to be safe. My heart softened every time I recalled his perfectly imperfect face with the scar that suddenly seemed less out of place, knowing how good he was in a fight. I wished I had thanked him better instead of rushing off. How fucked up was that?

He shot me a look that expressed a thousand words. “You’re still new enough that you aren’t familiar with the spotty-at-best reliability of those cameras. Try to pull anything even slightly shady in here? Forget about it, they’re on you like that.” His fingers snapped sharply.

“But not in the employee lot,” I concluded.

“Not in the employee lot. They probably figure they’d spot us stealing on the cameras inside. Why bother making sure we’re safe beyond these doors?” Scoffing, he slapped the towel over his shoulder.

My blood ran cold when I first heard the chatter while waiting to go through the metal detector on the way to the locker room. I’d spent all my day off keeping an eye on the news, waiting to hear about a man found brutally beaten in the employee parking lot of a Primm casino. No such news ever came.

“My bet is the owners shut the whole thing up,” Richie predicted, barely moving his lips when he spoke like he was that paranoid about being overheard.

Word might not have spread far and wide, but it certainly had among the staff. A few people coming in for their shift had witnessed Trucker Hat Guy being loaded into an ambulance, and that was all it took. As far as I knew, nobody had a clue I was involved. There were no funny looks or pointed questions. I might have gotten lucky.

One hour passed, then another. I was almost able to forget everything I’d spent the better part of two days trying to push out of my mind as needy customers demanded my attention. If anything, it was a relief. At home, there was nothing for me to do but remember the attack. Here, I could forget.

Until I rounded a row of slot machines and came face-to-face with the gorgeous, brutal man who hadn’t been far from my thoughts since I left him in the parking lot. I gasped, dropping back a step, my body going hot and cold at the same time. It was a sick, startling sensation. He’s here. Why’s he here?

And why the hell did he have to look and smell so fucking good? Nobody would ever guess by looking at him that this beautiful man with the easy, panty-melting smile could be capable of what I’d witnessed. My body went hotter, pushing the cold away, waking up the sort of yearning I figured was beyond me after what I’d been through.

He didn’t move from the swivel stool on which he sat, his brow furrowing at my startled reaction. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said in that deep voice that didn’t fit what I’d seen him do with his fists.

Get it together. But how? He was my rescuer, yes, but why the hell would he come back here? Sitting there, not even playing the slots. Watching me? “What are you doing here?” I whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear and trying to make this look like a casual conversation when it was anything but.

“I didn’t know I needed an invitation.” Is that supposed to be a joke? He was chuckling like it was. I had to be imagining this.

“It could be dangerous for you. Returning to the scene or whatever,” I babbled, my chest aching when I imagined him being arrested for protecting me.

“I’m perfectly safe.” Pausing a beat, he added, “So are you. You have nothing to worry about.”

No, that wasn’t strange at all. People randomly said that to each other all the time. “Thank you for that,” I replied. It didn’t feel like enough. We were connected. There was no pretending otherwise. “And, um… thank you for helping me the other night.”

I had to walk away. It was too unnerving, the way he stared at me. My skin prickled in the most uncomfortable way, even while my mind kept cataloging little bits and pieces of him— broad shoulders beneath a gray T-shirt that molded itself to his muscles, kind, dark eyes, and the scar I’d noticed when we first met, which now made more sense when I remembered what he was capable of doing with his fists. He smelled like fresh air, coffee, and spice. I couldn’t put my finger on it—I only knew it was a world away from some of the men I served, who’d walk in here wearing enough cologne to make my eyes water. They repulsed me.

Instead of repulsing me, he drew me in. It had to be his easy-going way like nothing really bothered him much. I knew for a fact there were things that did. I had witnessed it. I had stared at his hand, hovering in front of me, smeared with blood I’d watched him spill. Just because he was kind now didn’t mean I could forget what he was capable of. I had already overlooked too much in the past and wound up cursing myself for it.

The fresh, recent memories made me stand up a little straighter and pull my shoulders back, the cheap fabric of my work blouse rubbing against my skin. This was a man whose temper could explode at any second. I couldn’t betray myself by forgetting that.

“Actually, I was going to ask you a small favor. Call it a repayment,” he said, and there was something in his eyes that made the breath catch in my throat. His mouth might have been curved in a friendly, easy-going grin, but there was a weight in his stare. It was something heavy, something that made my skin prickle uncomfortably.

Which was why it was easy to back away, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

Before I could reflect on what a presumptuous asshole he was, he held up his ring-free left hand, of all things to notice. “No, you’re getting the wrong idea. I hoped you would have a cup of coffee with me on your next break.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I asked. “And you’re telling me I got the wrong idea?”