Page 41 of Hurt

She popped out a hip and bit her lip. The guy sat back with a grin and eyed Willow up and down.

The Sunspot did a funny thing to sexuality. Maybe it was the alcohol strong enough to be paint thinner, or maybe it was the seclusion, but people tended to be a lot more open when they entered the bar.

This guy was enjoying Willow’s flirtations. He was probably fine-looking, but Willow didn’t really look at his face. Her thoughts were preoccupied with light eyes and broad shoulders. She even found herself obsessing about his stupid fucking white suits, the ones that made no sense whatsoever.

KFC called—they wanted their finger lickin’ fugly suit back.

The guy slid his chair back and smiled lazily. Patting his knee, he indicated for Willow to have a seat. Tossing her hair back, she sat on his leg and wrapped her arms around his neck. From the other side of the bar, Sid gave her a look.

Willow liked dancing on stage but generally wasn’t one to interact with customers. Especially ones that didn’t specifically ask for her. Dancing at The Sunspot was less about stripping and more about entertainment, so private dances were pretty rare. The dancers had regulars who would request them come hang out and flirt for a while, but it was at the dancer’s discretion whether they wanted to or not.

A large hand slipped around Willow’s waist, resting on her hip. His thumb was rubbing circles on the skin exposed by the crop top she was wearing. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but Willow would have rather had someone else’s hand on her.

Thinking that made her angry all over again. It was more than his betrayal. Roland had made her feel seen, had looked at her, and as long as his eyes were on her, the light from those amber irises kept the gaping darkness of loneliness from swallowing her whole. And, logically, Willow knew she had no right to Roland. They had made no promises, and Roland had never said anything. Rescuing her from Asher meant nothing—it was probably borne more from the gang’s rivalry than anything he felt for Willow.

So, this was fine.

“So, uh,” he started gruffly. “Is your name WIFI? Because I’m feeling a connection.”

Willow tossed her head back and laughed. It was an exaggeration, of course, but it was a mildly amusing line.

“Oh really?” Willow cooed back.

“Yeah. And I think I know where the router is.” That sneaky thumb of his slipped under the waistband of Willow’s skirt.

“That’s a bit—”

Willow’s world tilted. A strong arm yanked her to her feet and pushed her aside. Roland had set her on her feet and was grabbing Cheesy Pickup Line guy by his shirt. His face was impassive, but there was definite rage blazing in his eyes. Thin lips were pressed together so tightly that the slight curl of disgust was hardly noticeable.

In his aggression, the chair and table had toppled over. The entire bar was staring at them. Roland’s left hand was buried in the man’s shirt, and his right hand flexed several times, rings catching the dim lights.

“Roland!” Sid’s voice cut through the tension.

Willow wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the power in his voice but judging by the look on Sid’s face, it was him.

Noah had come running out from the back, and he laid a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Elijah had arrived at his bosses’ side. At Noah’s voice, he looked up, and Willow swore he did a double take. His mouth opened once before Roland started dragging the guy by the shirt. With very little effort, he pulled him out the front door.

Willow tried to follow, but Noah caught her hand. “What the hell?”

“Noah, get behind the bar and stay there,” Willow snapped, shaking off her nephew’s hand and running past a star-struck-looking Elijah.

Roland had pulled the man across the parking lot for a few yards. When Willow arrived, he was hitting him. His fist repeatedly crashed into the man’s face. Those vicious rings of his were pummeling down, cracking bone and splitting skin. Blood sprayed onto that ridiculous suit—a gory splash of art that would sell for millions in a museum.

Willow couldn’t take her eyes off him. His face was so serene, but his eyes were awash in furor. Anger, rage, and whatever else the man kept bottled up deep inside came exploding out in his fist. Blows rained down upon the defenseless man. His left hand was completely holding him up, fingers curled in his shirt as his right destroyed the man’s face.

“Roland!” Willow finally cried out.

Those explosive eyes snapped up to her, pinning her in the spot and sending a shiver down her back. Without breaking eye contact, Roland took the man’s right hand, isolating his thumb and snapping it with an audible crack.

The howl of pain echoed around the empty lot, but all Willow could see was Roland’s face. Blood marred his perfect skin and dripped off those sharp cheekbones. His hand was awash in red, and his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

Dropping the man, he stepped over his body and strode to Willow.

“You were watching someone else dance!” she snapped defensively. “You can’t look away from me and expect me to—”

Two bloody hands gripped her face and dragged her close. Roland wasn’t standing in front of her so much as standing over her. Fingers dug into her skull almost painfully. Roland’s heated breath ghosted over Willow’s face.