Page 3 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

Someone banged into my back, and my hand holding my glass connected hard with my mouth, my teeth taking most of the impact.

I spun around to see a huge guy fall to the floor groaning, beside my barstool. I jumped up right before the thing fell over and stepped around his legs to get clear.

Another guy stood over him, a pool cue in hand and murder in his eyes.

“You stay the fuck away from Stella, got it?” the attacker shouted.

The music cut off, and all eyes in the bar were fixed on the fight. The guy on the floor struggled to his feet. I saw it then. His cut. A short leather vest with a patch sewn on.

Harbor Hounds MC.

Once the fallen guy was up, he lumbered back toward his opponent.

“Don’t tell me what to do! You can’t stop us.”

They were about to clash again, right beside me. I was trapped between the bar and the fallen stools, and there was no escape. A tattooed hand slapped the counter beside me, and then someone was vaulting over the bar top with ease.

One of the guys picked up a glass and hurled it. The other guy stepped to the side, and the glass flew toward me instead. I flinched, swiveling my body to protect my face from the hit, but it didn’t come.

Turning to see what happened, I found Marcus, hand closed around the glass, stopped midair, inches from me.

He held it in such a strong grip the glass had cracked, and red ran down his arm.

He‘d caught it. Plucked it out of the air.

It was astounding. His face was stony as he dropped the broken shards to the floor and shook out his hand.

Blood splattered against the bar. He turned then and reached over the bar and snatched up an object.

A baseball bat? No, not a baseball bat. That would have been a lot more normal.

Marcus strode toward the pair of fighting bikers, hockey stick in hand. The Clutch kept a hockey stick behind the bar for safety? Hade Harbor really was a hockey town.

He grabbed one guy and tossed him back, and then a second later, with lightning-fast reflexes, he nudged the tip of the stick into the attacker’s chest, stopping him dead.

“You threw the glass?” His voice was dangerously low.

The guy swallowed hard. “I wasn’t aiming for anyone other than Bill.”

“But you didn’t hit Bill, did you?” Marcus continued.

He took a step back and swung the hockey stick in a hard arc, smacking the guy’s face with the end of it. The meaty thwack was sickening. The guy fell to the floor. You could cut the silence with a knife.

“Now, you two take it outside and off Bailey property if you want to kill each other.”

The guy with the busted jaw jabbed a finger at the guy who’d fallen into my stool. “He fucked Stella.”

“Not my problem. Get off Bailey property and act like a fucking Hound. Fight it out fair or forget it.” Marcus’ voice rang with dominance. He flicked his stick up and pressed it into the first guy’s chin, pinning him in place.

The guy glared at him, then nodded. “Fine. We’ll take it outside.”

“And off the property. If I come out there and you’re fighting in the lot, someone’s getting their head knocked off, got it?”

There was an air of authority around Marcus that no one dared to argue with. What had he said before? He was heir to all this? Was the bar his family business?

The two men moved outside. The jukebox started back up, and slowly, conversation resumed.

Marcus watched them go, blood dripping freely from his hand onto the floor. My heart was still racing, hard, and it was difficult to catch my breath. Sure, he’d been protecting his family business, but that midair catch had been hot. Hot as hell.

No one had ever been protective of me. No one.

I went to his side, and he turned toward me.

“Are you okay?” was his first question.

I stared at him and might have swooned a little, deep down inside. His concern was alien to me. Alien, but oh-so wanted.

“Me? Have you seen your hand?” I reached for his arm and pulled it up, cradling it carefully.

“It’s fine. I’m used to getting busted up,” he said with a slight grin.

I shook my head. “It’s not fine. Do you have a first-aid kit? Or maybe you should go to the hospital.”

He studied me, perplexed. The rest of the bar had moved on, like it was normal to have broken glass and blood all over the floor. Maybe it was for them.

“Honestly, it’s nothing. No one gives a shit.” His tone was nonchalant.

I shrugged. “Well, I do. Can I clean it up, please?” I added when he looked ready to blow me off.

He let out an exasperated sigh and squeezed the back of his neck with his good hand.

“You’re making a big deal over nothing. I’m sure you have better things to do, birthday girl, than patch up a scratch.”

“That scratch is making quite the pool of blood on the floor. Call it a birthday gift, if you need an excuse to let someone take care of you,” I pressed.

I didn’t know exactly why I was insisting, only that he’d gotten hurt saving me from having a glass smashed into my head, and I couldn’t let that slide. I had to fix it.

He stared at me for a long moment and then shrugged.

“Okay, sure, knock yourself out. I’ve got a first-aid kit in the back.”

Nodding decisively, I headed behind the bar. When I realized he wasn’t following, I stopped on the threshold to the back room and looked back at him.

“Well, come on, doctor’s orders,” I called to him.

A shadow of a smirk moved across his beautiful lips, and then he was following.

“Keep going. There’s a bedroom back there,” he said from behind me.

We walked through a storeroom and then a small kitchen, where a cook was sitting on the counter and staring at his phone.

I nearly stopped a few times, unsure of where to go, but Marcus put a hand on my hip to direct me, and setting my blood on fire. Holy hell, even a hand on the hip was getting me hot and bothered.

“In here,” Marcus said.

He sounded so much closer than I’d expected, right behind me.

I swallowed a tight knot in my throat and stopped outside a door.

There was a padlock on it. He reached both arms around me from behind and turned the dial.

I jolted at the intimate contact. For a moment, it felt like we were going into this private room for something other than first aid. Heat spiraled up my spine.

Calm down, Arianna. You’ll embarrass yourself.

Right. My ghost’s voice in my head was never far away.

I focused on Marcus’ hands, accidentally seeing the number combo.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to use 4321 as a lock combination? It’s too easy to guess,” I rambled.

Marcus chuckled, pushing the door open with one hand. “And yet, no one has ever guessed it. Sometimes simple is best, birthday girl.”

I ducked into the bedroom. It was small and cozy, and a bed took up nearly the entire space. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I bumped into a box on the floor. There was a safe in the wall, and several heavy duffel bags sitting on the floor.

“Careful over there. That’s shit that’s not to be messed with.”

“Good thing you have such a secure combination on the door,” I teased him.

One corner of his lip lifted as he nodded, acknowledging my jibe.

“Here.” Marcus moved past me to grab the first-aid kit from the dresser.

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking the box. I felt better holding the supplies, like I had a purpose here.

I sat on the edge of the bed and glanced up at him.

He was standing in front of me, and now that I was sitting, he towered over my much smaller frame.

He was a big guy. Big and strong and clearly no stranger to biker bars and fights.

Heat crawled across my skin. I was hyperaware of him.

It was a relief, really, that I could feel so comfortable alone with a man.

I hadn’t been sure if I’d ever be, after that night, months ago.

Tonight was proving something to me that felt like a real victory.

I wasn’t afraid of all men. I’d been afraid of a particular one…

more monster than man… but he hadn’t broken me.

Marcus the Hot Bartender looming over me in the dark wasn’t triggering the same fight-or-flight response state I’d lived in the for the last five years.

“Come here,” I said softly, and it came out oddly throaty, the atmosphere close and intimate.

Nope, that’s just your dirty mind, Arianna.

He stepped closer and held out his injured hand. I focused on the large gash across his palm. I hissed as I inspected it, gently dabbing it with a piece of antiseptic-soaked gauze.

He was utterly silent.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” I picked the glass splinters out of the cut.

He raised a heavy shoulder, uncaring.

I tugged at his wrist. “Sit, I can’t reach you up there.”

Slowly, he stepped to my side and sank down next to me. His knee pressed into my thigh, and honestly, it was the most erotic experience I’d had in years. I put his hand on my lap and cleaned it carefully.

Once I was done, I looked up and found Marcus’ eyes on me.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I reached for the antiseptic cream.

He nodded. “You’re a pro at this. You a professional?”

An involuntary chuckle left me. “Not at all. Just an amateur with plenty of experience, though, I have to say, it’s easier to do it on someone else,” I babbled.

Marcus’ voice was low. “What kind of experience?”

“Nothing,” I brushed off his question and taped a large bandage over his palm, gently smoothing it. “All done. Try not to get it wet for a little bit.”

He nodded, and his eyes fell to my lips.

Heat slid down my spine, and I was all too aware of being alone with this man, sitting on a bed.

My breath grew short, my skin tingled, and I wanted nothing more than for him to close the gap between us and kiss me.

I felt wild and reckless and completely unlike myself.

Maybe that was a good thing. Being myself had only brought me misery… maybe it was time to be someone else.

“What’s your name, birthday girl?” Marcus asked.