Page 81 of Micah

Every rational thought disappears.

I hit the door with my shoulder.

Solid.

Old hardwood.

Won't give.

I step back exactly one pace.

Drive my boot forward.

The frame explodes inward with a crack that echoes through the building.

The smell hits me first.

Beer.

Blood.

Fear.

My eyes sweep the room in one practiced motion.

Patrick's almost unconscious against the bar.

Two men turning toward me.

Another reaching for something beneath his jacket.

And my vision tunnels.

A huge son of a bitch with a wicked scar bisecting his face has Sloane pinned against the bar.

One massive hand wrapped around both her wrists.

The other cupping her jaw.

His tongue drags across her cheek.

Slow.

Possessive.

Like she's his.

Everything inside me snaps.

The whole world goes red.

“Who the fuck are you?” Scarface barks.

“No one you know.”

My voice doesn't even sound like mine.

Cold.