Page 178 of Brutal Vows

“Girls, I’ve got to visit the ladies’ room. Anybody else?”

I get a round of head shakes for an answer.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a sec. And keep an eye on the boys. If things look like they’re about to go sideways, I’m counting on you to get control of the situation, Sloane.”

She smiles as if she’s hoping gunfire will break out at any moment. “No problem, babe. They won’t know what hit ’em.”

I wind my way slowly through the elegant crowd toward an archway marked MESDAMES. The restroom is down a corridor lined with potted palms lighted purple. I go inside, use the toilet, then wash my hands in the sink.

When I come out, the corridor is empty.

Except for my four bodyguards lying facedown and unmoving on the floor and the man leaning casually against the wall.

Wearing faded jeans, a tight white T-shirt, cowboy boots, and mirrored sunglasses, he has a foot propped up on the wall and his tattooed arms folded over his massive chest. His dark wavy hair brushes his shoulders. His angular jaw is covered in scruff.

He’s big, masculine, and exudes an air of danger so palpable, I can almost touch it.

He looks like a mashup of Wolverine, Dirty Harry, and James Bond. On steroids.

I say, “At least take off the sunglasses. It would add insult to injury to be murdered by a man wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night.”

“Not gonna harm you, lass. Just want a word.”

His Irish accent is lilting and his tone is gentle, but I don’t trust him.

I know a killer when I see one. And this guy’s a killer with a capitalK.

He pushes off the wall, pulls a huge semi-automatic handgun out of the back of his waistband, and holds it out to me. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

“What would make me feel better is if I knew why an Irishman who thinks he’s Dirty Harry assaulted four of my bodyguards.”

He smiles. My reflection in his glasses looks very small.

“This conversation needs to be private.”

“Are they dead?”

“Do you see any blood?”

“There are so many ways to kill a man that don’t involve spilling his blood.”

His smile grows wider. Tucking the gun back in its place, he drawls, “Aye, there are. Which you know all about, don’t you?”

Someone is coming down the hallway. Two women, chattering, their heads together and their high heels clicking off the marble floor. They see us and the four men lying unconscious and pull up short. Then look at each other. Then they turn around and run off without a word.

Dirty Harry strolls away and turns left around a corner, disappearing from sight. From around the corner he says, “C’mon, Reyna. If I wanted to kill you, I already would have.”

Whoever he is, this guy is very irritating.

“Who are you?”

A husky chuckle is my only answer.

“I really don’t appreciate the cloak-and-dagger routine.”

“Two minutes of your time. That’s all I need. Why don’t you pull that blade out of the sheath on your thigh and wave it around at me? Might make you feel better.”

I glance down at the front of my dress. The waist is cinched and the skirt is full, concealing any telltale lumps or bumps. There’s no way he could’ve known I’m carrying a knife.