Page 94 of Cold Mercy

I pick it back up.

“Sophia. Where are you?”

“Huh?” she snorts. “In my bar, obviously. If you want to come and dance—”

I don’t let her finish. The engine roars before my brain even decides. I’m already speeding toward the bar, every red light a personal attack.

When I walk into the bar, the music is pounding, the lights flickering, and she’s in the middle of the room with a bottle in her hand. Some asshole behind her has his hands on her hips like she’s an open invitation.

I march across the floor and put my fist into his jaw so hard his head snaps sideways, and he hits the ground like a bag of concrete.

“She’s drunk, you idiot,” I snarl down at him, my voice sharp enough to cut through the music. “Can’t you fucking see that?”

Sophia gasps behind me.

“Hey!” she whines. “Cowboy, I didn’t need rescuing. We were doing fine.”

She can barely stand.

I turn to her, furious with the world, furious with myself, furious that she looks at me like I’m the problem.

“You shouldn’t be fucking wandering around at night like this!”

She throws her arms around my shoulders, her entire body soft and warm against mine.

“You sound like a policeman, babe…” she murmurs, teasing.

I freeze as my heart stops for a split second, a dead, cold panic flooding my veins. And then she giggles, the innocent sound completely at odds with the catastrophic realization washing over me.

“Relax, I’m joking. But you would be a sexy cop.” Her lips brush my ear as she says it, unsteady and drunk and completely unaware of the damage she’s doing.

I grab her hand, pull it away from my neck, and hold her upright.

“We’re leaving.”

She doesn’t fight me, just lets me pick her up and carry her out, her head falling against my shoulder like she trusts me with her life.

In the car, she keeps talking. Rambling, laughing, calling me grumpy and dramatic, while I’m trying not to lose my mind. By the time we reach her house, she’s calmer but still drunk enough to make terrible decisions.

She sways toward the door, then looks over her shoulder.

“I’m not going inside unless you come with me.”

“Sophia… I can’t.”

“Then I’m going back to the bar.”

Fuck. I sigh, defeated.

“Fine, I’ll come in. Only until you fall asleep.”

Inside, she trips on the stairs twice before I catch her. When we reach her bedroom, she tries to take off her heels but nearly falls flat on her face.

“Sit.” I kneel and take her ankles, one by one, and slide the heels off. I try not to stare at the way her dress rides up her thighs, try not to think about sliding my hands higher.

She watches me with a softness that could destroy me.

I stand quickly, putting distance between us.