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Which is how I end up on my feet before my brain even catches up.

And the cowboy who just ran his mouth about her has his face slamming into the bar top before anyone else even notices.

It goes down like this, see, he stands, saunters up to the bar where my girl is wiping down glasses.

He leans in, voice dripping with sleaze. “Hey there, what time you getting off, Pumpkin? So I know what time we’ll both be getting off.”

“Really?” Arliss shakes her head in disgust.

“Come on, girlie. You don’t wanna miss this,” he says and grabs his dick over his jeans in a lewd gesture.

“I’ll pass,” she replies.

“You mean you’ll pass out when you get a taste of all this here action, right?”

The bastard laughs.

Like he thinks he’s funny.

Arliss frowns, opening her mouth—probably to tell him to go fuck himself because she’s a total fucking badass who can handle herself—but I don’t give her the chance.

My hand is already around his neck.

And his face is already meeting the bar.

Hard.

The whole place goes quiet.

I lean in, voice low, dangerous.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

The cowboy groans, sputtering, his cheek mashed against the wood.

Arliss is staring at me, eyes wide, lips parted.

And fuck me if she doesn’t look just the slightest bit turned on.

I might be going to hell for this.

But at least I’ll go there knowing she’s mine.

“Oh my God! Did you just?—”

Arliss is staring at me, shock written all over her face, those soft lips parted like she can’t believe what she just saw.

I don’t look at her.

Because if I do, I’ll get distracted. And right now?

Right now, my rage is still simmering.

“Don’t worry about him. I got it.” My voice is steady, smooth.

Like I didn’t just nearly put this prick through the fucking bar.

I haul Asshole to his feet, ignoring his pained groan, and frog-march his sorry ass right back to his table.