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“I want to talk to him!” the man yells.

“He’s not here,” Holly said.

“Get him here. I’m not leaving until I talk to him. I’ll kill every damn person in this place until someone gets him down here. Got it?”

“I’ll get him,” Holly squeaks.

Two men playing pool stand side by side, pool sticks in hand. Their auras change from a playful orange to a deep crimson. I hold my breath. Thick, humid tension fills the air. The bartender moves so slowly that I almost don’t notice. But he’s definitely moving. He might be going for a gun.

Trying not to panic, I look around for the exits. The crazy man is standing in the perfect spot to block all exits. I’d have to pass too close to him to escape. I can’t risk it.

“Is he going to hurt us?” Max whispers.

“I don’t know.” Wouldn’t that be it? I kidnap a child and then get him killed in a biker bar shootout. I’m starting to wonder if my judgment is lacking. Maybe I should have called the sheriff’s office again. It didn’t help last time, but maybe this time, someone will listen.

The front door to the bar bangs open, and my breath gusts out of my lungs when I see the man who kicked it in. He’s at least six feet two inches, according to the height stickers alongside the door. It’s the same kind of sticker liquor stores use to provide descriptions of robbery suspects.

He’s wearing black boots, tight jeans that show off his perfect ass, and a leather vest over a black tank top. Rage fills his steel gray eyes. Everyone in the bar shrinks back from him, but I find myself leaning toward him. His aura shimmers, a halo of silver around deep indigo. It’s almost black, but not quite. I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t look away.

His black hair is longer on top and trimmed to less than a quarter of an inch on the sides. His trimmed mustache and beard match the darker color of his hair. His full, sensual lips purse. An image of us locked in a passionate kiss pops into my mind. His head whips toward me as if he can read my thoughts. My face burns, but I can’t tear my gaze free of his. A slight smirk curls the edge of his top lip. Then it’s gone, and he’s back to being completely focused on the belligerent man.

The mystery man’s vest has several patches, one of which reads, Scar. This must be the guy that the other man wanted to talk to. Hopefully, they take whatever the issue is outside before someone gets—

Scar swings his massive fist without warning. It smashes into the other man’s face, shattering his nose. Blood spurts everywhere. Max screams and hides under the table. I want to hide with him, but I can’t look away as Scar beats the man unconscious. Scar’s aura doesn’t change. It’s still that same indigo with a silver lining. It doesn’t even ripple.

When he finally stops pummeling the man, he raises his gaze. It locks with mine, stealing my breath. My heart thunders, and blood surges through my body, settling in all the places I want him to touch me with those deadly hands. I feel completely out of control as if I’ve literally been enchanted. But that’s impossible. Whatever’s happening between us can’t possibly be real. It must be a stress response or something. Still, my entire body burns for him.

“Reaper, take out the trash,” he commands.

“Gladly, pres.” Another man, also wearing the same kind of vest Scar’s wearing, bends down and grabs the unconscious man by his greasy hair. He drags the guy toward the back of the bar into what I assume is the kitchen.

When I turn back to look at Scar, he’s coming toward me. Stalking me like a predator. I’m powerless to move, even when he stops right next to our booth.

“Sorry you had to see that. Is your boy okay?” Scar’s voice is liquid velvet over steel. A deadly caress. As if he’s reached out and touched me despite standing just out of reach. My fingers tingle with the desire to do exactly that, reach for this dark, brooding, dangerous man who lights my body on fire with a single look.

Who is the hell is this guy?

Chapter 3: Scar

The naughty librarian sitting in the booth hasn’t stopped eye-fucking me since I walked into the bar. Thick, black-rimmed glasses do nothing to obscure her luminous green eyes. Her long, chestnut-colored hair is tamed in a bun at the base of her head, just above her slender neck. Her charcoal-gray pencil skirt and light pink cardigan complete the fantasy. Even sitting down, I can tell she’s got curves for days.

I want her on her knees. I want to shove my rapidly hardening cock between those pale pink lips and fuck away all that innocence. But she’s not innocent, is she? She looks guilty as hell, and it has something to do with the kid hiding under the table.

Holly walks over with two milkshakes and sets them on the table. She’s not nearly as pale as when she burst in on Church. What a mess. I never did adjourn the meeting. I’ll have to fix that oversight later. I can’t stand unfinished business, but it had to wait so I could deal with Rick.

“I’ll take a bowl of Sugar Bear cereal,” I tell Holly as I slide into the booth, taking a seat across from the mystery woman.

“Right away. Anything else?” She glances at the librarian. “Your food order is up. I just have to run and grab it.”

“I’m fine,” the librarian says.

“What’s your name?” I ask after Holly leaves.

“Julia.”

“Julia …” I wait for her to supply a last name, but she doesn’t. “Your son seems scared.”

“Um … he’s … my nephew.”