Page 42 of Downforce

Concern.

Fine. Concern isn’t that bad. I would hate to see any woman alone being attacked or yelled at by three men. I would’ve intervened if the harassed woman was a total stranger. Every woman deserves to be protected.

My father taught me that.

But something about seeing this woman being bothered and called a bitch, still has me wishing I had followed through on my threat to pummel all three of those assholes into the pavement.

“Let’s go.” I don’t wait for Annalise to agree when I take her elbow into mine and guide her in the opposite direction that those fiends ran off to.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She struggles to shake my hand off of her but it’s not happening. She’s already proven that she can’t be left alone.

We still have a couple of hours before the subway shuts down, but I can call a taxi to get her there.

A whiff of her breath hits my nose and I sniff the air.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Didn’t realize drinking a few rounds of sake was a crime,” she insists.

“Not only were you out alone and unprotected, but you’re inebriated as well.” I push out a breath and bite back the growl that tries to crawl out of my throat.

“Inebriated is a stretch,” she says while still wiggling to get out of my grasp. I’m certain that I’m not holding on to her tight enough to be painful or leave a bruise or anything. However, my hold does force her to keep up with my long strides, which she does surprisingly well.

Even in the four-inch heels she has on.

“What do you call it then?” I don’t look over at her because I can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do if I look at her right now. The heat rising up the back of my neck tells me it won’t be anything rational.

“Having a drink at dinner with a friend,” she retorts. “Like a normal person.”

I grunt. “And he couldn’t be arsed to walk you back to your hotel? Perhaps you need to choose better.”

I grind my teeth at the thought of a man inviting a woman out to dinner in a foreign country and not, at the very least, ensuring she gets home or to her hotel in proper fashion.

What type of arseholes does this princess date?

“Why the hell would you assume it’s a him?” She tries to pull her arm again, and I think about letting her go.

I don’t. Her question, however, does penetrate the irrational part of my being that refuses to let her out of my grasp. Was it a man she was out with tonight?

Does Annalise date women? As soon as the question enters my mind, I dismiss it. Once I overheard Travis’ new wife making a comment about playing matchmaker for Annalise with one of the other drivers.

My chest heats in anger as I remember hearing Annalise call Jules Dubois, one of the drivers from Arena, cute.

I tut. Fucking cute.

A grown man. Nevertheless, it means she at least has a mild interest in men, so it’s a probability that she spent her evening with one. A loser who’s nowhere in sight to protect her, leaving her to be accosted by a group of losers with nothing better to do.

“Hello?”

I blink.

“I said where are you taking me?” she asks when I look down at her. Her hazel lenses burning in anger nearly hurt to look at. Almost like peering directly into the sun.

“Home,” I reply without thinking.

I keep walking, eating up the pavement with my long strides. Though my stride is fast, Annalise continues to easily keep up even in those heels.

Heels she wore for some wanker who couldn’t bother walking her back to her hotel.