Page 10 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

TEX

The tray in my hand wobbles as I fake another laugh and drop off three beers to a table full of college guys. One of them slips me a ten with a wink I don’t return. I‘ll bet anything his number is folded up inside the bill.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says.

I give him my best smile anyway. The one I’ve perfected–mouth only, never the eyes.

Then I turn and head back toward the bar, my white sneakers sticking slightly to the floor with every step.

Beads of sweat trail down my back, soaking into the thin white shirt until it molds to me like a second skin.

I just want this shift to be over.

“Hey, baby. You ran off so fast the other night I didn’t get your number.”

The tray almost slips from my hands and my stomach turns to water.

Rick—or Ron, whatever the hell his name is—leans against the bar like he owns the place. Loud, drunk, and surrounded by two guys already laughing at something he said before I got within earshot.

I plaster on a smile and walk right past him, pretending I didn’t hear and praying he’ll drop it.

But of course, he doesn’t.

“You ghosted me, sweetheart. C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it. You were begging for it.”

His friend adds, “Anyone who wears shorts that short wants it.”

I come to a dead stop right in front of the drink station.

The table near us falls silent. A single, uneasy laugh breaks through, sharp and unsure, the kind you hear when no one knows if they’re watching a meltdown or a performance.

Rick leans closer, but his words are loud enough for everyone to hear. “I know you liked it. You want to finish what we started? I’m free tonight and feeling generous.”

Laughter rings out, a snort from some guy near the bar.

I just stand there, burning alive inside my tiny uniform. My shorts are riding up. My shirt is suddenly chokingly tight. My throat closes up, eyes sting, and I can feel my lip trembling.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“I think you’ve had one too many,” one of the waitresses says, bless her heart, but it’s too late. I’m already humiliated. Exposed. I can see my manager approaching, see the concern in his expression, and all I can think is everyone saw that. Everyone heard it.

I want to crawl inside myself and disappear.

“Hey.” Mandy’s voice. Low. Dangerous. Safe.

My heart skips.

He’s been sitting in his usual booth, watching over me like he does. But now he’s towering over the idiots, and that coiled tension in his shoulders means he’s about to go off.

Rick turns to him. “Dude, the fuck happened to your face?”

“Get out.” Mandy doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to.

Rick raises his eyebrows. “You got a leash on him?”

Mandy takes a slow, menacing step forward.

Rick laughs, but he sounds nervous. He throws his hands up. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving.” He backs off, but not before giving me one last look. “I’ll be around, sweetheart. You’ll come back. I look a hell of a lot better than this guy.” He hikes his thumb at Mandy.

I can’t move. Can’t speak. The laughter has stopped, but the air is thick with pity. Eyes everywhere.

My cheeks burn hot, vision swimming, and my breath catches in my chest.

Mandy’s suddenly there at my side. “You good?”

I shake my head. “I need to finish my shift.”

He doesn’t push, just nods once. “I’ll be here.”

He returns to his table, watching, waiting, shoveling forkfuls of chocolate cake into his mouth. And when the doors close behind the last drunken asshole, I exhale for the first time all night.

Mandy disappears out the door with a little wave, and I clean my station and clock out. I’m walking to my car, finally alone, when I hear him again.

“Thought you might want that ride after all.”

Rick steps out from the shadows like something out of a nightmare or a Lifetime movie.

I freeze. Then shove him hard. “Stay the hell away from me.” But he grabs my arm again. I spin on him. “Get the hell away from me!”

Ron or Rick, or whatever the fuck his name is, grabs my wrist.

I twist against his hold, something I learned in the Army. “I said no .”

But I’m too small, and he’s too fast. My feet move, but not quick enough.

My voice catches. He grabs at me again, fingers digging into my arm, familiar and wrong and cold , and suddenly, I’m back there .

Back in that space where my body stopped belonging to me.

Back in that breathless, nauseating second between panic and collapse.

My skin prickles. Vision narrows. Every nerve screams—move, fight, run—but I lock up. Just like before. Just like every time they reached for me without asking, without caring, without once thinking I might say no.

I hate this. Hate how small I feel. How I am small, and he’s bigger, and I’m in that place where control slips through my fingers and leaves me gasping.

And then… he’s gone. Like a shadow ripped from my side.

At first, I thought I imagined it. That maybe I passed out or dissociated again, like I sometimes do.

But I blink and see Mandy, see the rage in his body, the heat rising off him like smoke, see the guy slammed against the car, wild-eyed and stammering.

Mandy's fist is curled tight like it wants to hurt. And for one terrifying, beautiful moment, I realize I’m not alone.

Someone saw me. Someone stopped it.

“You touch him again,” Mandy growls, “and I will end you. I’ll break every bone in your fucking body.”

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

Mandy’s not yelling. He’s snarling. Pure rage, coiled and snapping through every word. He’s terrifying. Unrecognizable .

I hear someone shout, a phone camera clicks, and my breath is trapped in my throat.

And the guy—Rick—he’s fighting back now, yelling something, but Mandy shoves him again and says something else I can’t even hear through the ringing in my ears.

I don’t know how long it lasts. Long enough for my hands to start shaking. Long enough for fear to set in, but not of Ron. Of Mandy .

Then suddenly, someone’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. My General Manager, Tom. “Break it up!”

Like a switch flipping, Mandy steps back, blinking like he’s just waking up from a bad dream.

Ron coughs, cusses, and stumbles away.

Mandy turns to me. His chest is heaving. His fists are still clenched. But his face—God. He looks like he’s the one who just got hit.

“I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “I—he touched you. I couldn’t?—”

“You scared me,” I whisper, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.

His jaw tightens. His whole body does. He nods once, stiff and ashamed, like he’s bracing for me to walk away.

But I don’t because the truth is, yeah, he scared me. But that’s not all. He showed me something I hadn’t let myself believe.

Mandy doesn’t just care. He’d kill for me. He’d lose control. Break all his rules. For me . And maybe that should make me run. But all I want to do is reach for him.

“You also saved me,” I say, softer now.

His eyes flicker up. He looks shattered. Like he’s trying to gauge if I’m about to run screaming or cry—or both.

And the thing that kills me? I think he’d rather lose me than lose control like that again.

He’s not afraid of me. He’s afraid for me. But mostly… he’s afraid of himself .

He takes a shaky step back, unsteady on his feet. Rick is long gone, probably pissing himself halfway to his car. But Mandy’s still breathing like he’s ready for round two with anyone or anything that might hurt me.

I reach out slowly, placing my hand on his chest. Not to stop him, just to anchor him. “Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay, Big Guy.”

He flinches like I slapped him.

“No,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “It’s not.”

I want to tell him how it felt, watching him move so fast, fearless and deadly.

Like the whole world blurred except me. Like I was worth protecting.

Worth fighting for. I want to tell him I’m not scared.

That part of me has always wondered if he’d ever lose that much control because of me. And now I know.

But I don’t say any of it.

Because right now, he’s not proud of what he did. He’s ashamed. Of his rage, of his instinct, of how easily the war still lives under his skin. And I’m still trying to catch my breath. So I keep my hand there. Right over his heart.

It’s beating too fast. “You scared me,” I say honestly. His face crumples a little more. “But only because you care too much,” I add.

He shakes his head. “I can’t be that guy, Tex. I can’t be the one who scares you.”

“You’re not.” I bite my lip. “You’re the one who showed up .”

A bittersweet silence stretches between us, full of unsaid things. Finally, he nods. Just once. Barely.

I let my hand slide down, fingers brushing his. “Come on. Take me for a ride in that sexy car of yours. I’ll come back for my car tomorrow.”

Mandy gives me this look—half-exasperated, half-relieved—and unlocks the Mini Cooper with a sigh that sounds a lot like surrender.

The second he tries to get in, he grunts. His shoulder knocks hard against the doorframe, and then there’s the thud of his knee ramming the steering wheel. I stifle a laugh, watching him twist and shift and mutter under his breath like he’s trying to parallel park his entire body.

He grumbles, adjusting the seat that’s already pushed back as far as it’ll go. His head’s practically brushing the roof.

I bite my lip, cheeks aching from holding back a smile. Because I know why he bought this ridiculous little car.

It wasn’t for gas mileage or horsepower or any rational adult reason.

It was because I once saw it and said it was cute. I called it “sassy.” Because the color reminded me of the blue skies over Hill Country back home and I joked that if I drove it, I’d name it Coop.

And now here he is, 6’4”, all broad shoulders and long legs, stuffed behind the wheel like some surly, overgrown G.I. Joe doll, just so I could maybe, possibly, want to ride beside him.

He glances over, catching my grin. “What?”