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A deep chuckle rumbled in my throat. I peeked at Ettore. He tried to stifle a laugh.
This was amusing. Women didn’t normally get smart with me.
“You don’t know who I am?” I asked.
She batted those long dark lashes. “No.”
She released a sigh, planting a hand on her hip. “I guess you’re not ordering. Have a nice day.”
Damn, the woman wouldn’t budge.
She turned to walk away. I stood and gingerly grabbed her arm. Towering over her, I peered into brown eyes the color of Jack Daniels whiskey.
We stood like that for what felt like five minutes, but it was more like seconds. Her chest rose and fell against mine. I could tell instantly she didn’t like the way her body reacted to me.
“Sweetheart, we’ll have to play another time. Right now, I need to speak to Quinn.”
A wicked laugh left her throat. “That won’t ever happen.”
Her palm pressed against my chest. “There’s nothing more we have to talk about.”
An irritated chuckle rumbled in my chest. Her eyes never left my face.
“Spitfire, where’s Quinn?”
Ettore cleared his throat. “Boss.”
I glanced at him. “What?”
He nodded at the woman.
I peeked down at her. Somehow, I had her pinned against the bar. She’d gotten under my skin so fast I cornered her. That wasn’t like me.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I slapped a hand on the bar beside her. My eyes popped open, and I slammed my other hand on the bar, caging her in. “It’s important I talk to Quinn first. He owes me and an acquaintance money. If I don’t talk to him.” I circled a finger in the air. “All this goes up in smoke.”
She puffed out her chest and that pretty lower lip. “You wouldn’t?”
“Spitfire, I would. Next, I’ll use my resources...and I will find him. Unfortunately, I’ll have to snap his legs in half.”
“That’s not necessary,” she barked.
“I have a better idea. You seem pretty invested in this place and him. I’ll hold you captive until he’s ready to pay back my money.”
The sound of several car doors slamming in the distance hit my eardrums.
“Boss, we have company,” Clip muttered in a deep voice from his place near the front entrance.
He turned the lock and retrieved his Glock from his waist holster.
I pulled Spitfire into my chest. Her heart pounded against me. My men moved fast, yanking the shades down. The center shade was pulled down halfway so I could assess what was happening outside. Customers gasped as they took shelter under the tables.
“What’s going on?” Spitfire asked.
Pulling my Glock from my shoulder holster, I tugged her lower, and we rounded the bar.
“My acquaintance isn’t as subtle as I am. He won’t bother asking where Quinn is. He’ll flatten this place to send a message.”
“No, he can’t. Please don’t let him,” she pleaded. Pain filled her beautiful eyes. I was tempted to swipe a thumb over her cinnamon cheek and wipe away the single tear. Her hard exterior cracked, revealing a caring person. Was she so protective of Quinn that she’d do anything to save his life?
