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He shoves me against the wall, and his pals snigger as he tugs at the strap of my purse. “You want that?” I ask. “Take it. There’s cash in there, and a Tom Ford lipstick that I think is your exact shade.”
His friends make guffaw, and one of them wolf whistles at him. He, however, doesn’t look like he’s finding any of this remotely amusing. From the corner of my eye, I see Shawn disappear through the door of the center.
“Maybe I’ll take your purse, and maybe I’ll take you too,” the leader says menacingly. “You look pretty good for an old lady.”
“I’m not old, I’m forty,” I snap back. “And don’t you dare touch me.”
I can take the verbal abuse, and I don’t care if he steals my purse to save face. But he will not be laying a hand on me, no matter how big he is. And he is big. I have had it with men who think it’s fine to touch women like they’re property, and my fear is overshadowed by my determination not to let it happen to me again.
He reaches out and grabs my shoulder, and I start to very obviously raise my knee—a trick Rafael taught me. If a man suspects you’re going for his crown jewels, his focus will go straight to protecting his dick. Sure enough, my harasser immediately glances down and starts to swerve. At that exact moment, I slam the heel of my palm right up into his nose. A sickening crunch is followed by spurting blood, and he screams, “Fuck! You fucking bitch! You broke my nose.”
Tears are streaming from his eyes, and his baseball cap has fallen off in the struggle. The guys standing behind him look shocked, and I realize they’re younger than I initially thought—not a single one of them is a day over twenty.
“Leave Shawn alone,” I say sternly. “In fact, leave all these kids alone. And get a belt, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to trip over your pants walking around dressed like that.”
I step around the group, adrenaline surging and the reality of what just happened catching up with me. I force myself not to look back, not to show weakness, but I realize how crazy that whole incident was. How badly it could have gone. Any one of those men could have hurt me.
I stride briskly, wanting to run, and I’m flooded with relief when I see Erik and Rafael heading in my direction. Erik stops briefly, asks if I’m all right, then continues on to deal with the group of kids, which quickly disperses. As Sissie said, they’re all a bit scared of the bikers. Rafael looks at the guy with the busted nose as he walks past, then looks at me. “You do that?” he asks.
“I did,” I reply, suddenly feeling shaky.
“Nice hit. Stupid, though—why didn’t you come get us?”
“I don’t know. I was in a bad mood, and I may have had a couple of whiskeys too many,” I answer honestly. “They just pissed me off. Is Shawn okay?”
“He is. His mama is on her way in. You still in a bad mood?”
“I feel a bit better after that. My husband—soon-to-be-ex—is a boxer. He loves punching things. I get it now.”
Rafael nods but stays silent, as usual. From this close, I notice that one of his many tattoos is a king cobra, the hood at the front of his throat, the body of the snake wrapping around his neck then disappearing off under his tank top. I wonder idly what the rest of his tats look like. It’s not a sex thing, it’s a curiosity thing. He is hot, but for the time being, men hold no appeal for me. Apart from one, and he is off-limits.
“You got time for a lesson?” I ask.
“Why? You still need to punch things?”
I nod. “I do. It’ll make me feel better. Plus, I have some ideas about Shawn and his situation, and I need to clear my head.”
Erik overhears and says, “Nothing clears the head like punching things. Come on, Miss Amber. Do your worst.” He grins and gestures me toward the large rec room.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I smile back, grateful. For the next hour, I will be too busy throwing and blocking punches to even think about the James family.
ChapterThirty-Nine
ELIJAH
As soon as I discover she’s not home, I consider calling Sanjay to ask if he’s taken her to the community center, but the man still doesn’t like me, and I’m happy to leave it that way. Fuck knows she needs an ally.
I’ve been fielding calls from Luisa and Mason about work, and Nathan is worried I need company after signing the final paperwork today and wants to know if I want to grab a drink or dinner or to come stay the night at his place. And Dad left a voicemail asking if I’ll bring my “new lady friend” to brunch at the house soon.
Christ. I love my family with all my heart, but right now I wish they’d all back the fuck off. I need to find a way to press a mute button so I can concentrate. Shit, I should have figured out a way to do that years ago.
After telling Gretchen where we’re heading next, I deal with the rest from the back seat. I answer the work queries about the South Korean deal, tell Nathan I’ll call him tomorrow, and send Dad a message telling him there is no new lady friend despite what he may have heard through the family grapevine. Hell, I’ll be lucky if the woman I’ve loved for over half my life will still agree to be my friend at all.
Jesus fuck, what a mess. I rub my hands over my beard and try to let go of some tension. For her sake, maybe I should let her go. But I’m not that good of a man—and damn it, I need her in my life. The way she behaved earlier, so calm as we swung a wrecking ball through our marriage, drove me mad. I still think of her as mine and can’t bear the thought of that changing.
So what now? I can’t force her to feel differently. It’s not like I’ve done a good job of persuading her. Why the fuck would she want to belong to me after the way I’ve treated her?
By the time we arrive at the community center, I’m no closer to clarity. I am a jumble of nerve endings and energy. “We’re here, Mr. J,” Gretchen says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’ll wait for you, okay?”