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"Not yet you're not." He tightens his grip, fingernails digging into my shoulder even through my winter coat. "I've been watching you all night. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be in a place like this alone."
I try to shrug out of his grasp, but his hand is like a vise, clamping down on my shoulder hard enough that I can feel my bones grinding together. "Let go of me," I say firmly, meeting his beady eyes that are nearly black in the dim lighting of the bar.
He just tightens his grip further in response, his sausage-like fingers digging in deep. I can feel my heart begin to pound, adrenaline flooding my system. This mountain of a man could easily overpower me if I don't get away quickly. I try to subtly shift my weight to my back foot, ready to make a break for it.
He just laughs. "Feisty. I like that."
My heart pounds as he pulls me closer, his massive frame easily enveloping my petite one. I'm desperately scanning the crowded bar for help, but everyone seems oblivious, lost in drunken conversation or focused on the hockey news playing onthe TVs. The bartender is chatting up a pair of giggling blondes at the far end of the bar, not even glancing my way. A group of rowdy guys laugh obnoxiously loud, drowning out the music and any chance of someone hearing my cries.
I feel utterly alone as this hulking stranger tightens his grip on me, my bones grinding together painfully under his brute strength. Panic rises in my chest. I have to get away from him now, before this escalates further. I subtly shift my weight to my back foot, ready to make a break for it if I get an opening. Just one distraction is all I need. My eyes dart around the bar again, pleading for anyone to look my way. But the revelry continues on, oblivious.
"I believe the lady asked you to let her go," a familiar voice cuts in sharply.
My head whips around to see Owen coming from out of nowhere, blue eyes blazing. I've never been so happy to see his stupid, handsome face.
The man whirls, surprised to find Owen standing there glowering at him. He's still got one hand firmly clamped on my shoulder, though.
Owen snarls at him. "Let her go before I rearrange your face."
The man's eyes narrow as he sizes Owen up. Even through the alcoholic haze, he seems to realize he's no match for an angry hockey player in peak physical condition.
"We were just talking," he mumbles unconvincingly, though his grip on me loosens.
"It didn't look like talking to me," Owen says, taking a step closer. His muscular frame seems to expand, radiating menace. "I'm not going to ask you again."
The man wavers, indecision flickering across his face. For a moment, I think he's going to challenge Owen, fueled by drunken idiocy. His eyes dart between Owen and me, cheeks reddening in anger and embarrassment. But then his handdrops from my shoulder and he takes a stumbling step back, nearly losing his balance.
"Whatever, she's not even that hot," he mutters, trying to save face even as he backs down.
But that just triggered something fierce in Owen. He grits his teeth and gets in the guy's face. "What did you say, asswipe?"
"I said she's not that hot."
Rage overcomes Owen’s features, for some reason setting him off more than anything.
Within the span of half a second, he lands a punch square in the creep's face. The guy's head snaps back from the force of the blow. Blood immediately starts gushing from his nose. He stumbles backward, hands flying up to cup his injured face.
"What the hell, man?!" he yells, voice muffled.
Owen just shakes out his hand, unfazed like it’s just a brawl on the ice with Les Nordiques. His knuckles are already reddening from the impact.
"That's just a warning," he says coldly. "Touch her again, and no one will ever find you."
Wow, that got dark real quick.
Owen takes my hand and swiftly whisks me outside into the cold night air.
"You okay, Kitty Cat?" he asks, anger melting into concern as his eyes search my face. I nod shakily. Now that the adrenaline is fading, I'm left feeling violated and shaken.
"I'm fine," I say, rolling my eyes even as my pounding heart starts to calm. "Just another handsy bar creep."
Owen frowns, his big hand coming up to cup my chin. The gentle brush of his thumb is not lost on me. Surprisingly, it feels so, so nice.
"Are you sure?" he asks gently. His gaze softens, clouded with concern.
A flood of relief washes over me now that Mr. Handsy is gone. "I'm fine," I assure him, offering a grateful smile. "Thank you."
He nods, the tension easing from his broad shoulders. "I'm just glad I got here when I did."
