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I take a slow sip of whiskey. The way he’s looking at her makes something dark and primal twist low in my gut. Heat licks up my spine.

The bartender leans in again, all smiles and low-cut top. “Anything else I can get you?”

I don’t even look at her. “I’m good.”

My eyes stay locked on Grace. Charles reaches across the table and takes her hand and this time she lets him. For a second, my vision narrows.

She’s supposed to be playing the nightmare, not sitting there letting that fossil touch her like he has any right. The thought of her playing nice just to keep her father happy makes my blood burn.

I’ve bent every rule for this woman. I’ve put my life on the line, given her everything she’s asked for, let her crawl so deep under my skin I can’t think straight anymore…and this is what I get? Watching another man put his hands on her?

I stand up fast. The stool scrapes loudly behind me. A few heads turn. I don’t give a fuck.

I head for the hallway near the restrooms, already pulling out my phone. My pulse is pounding in my ears.

I need someone to talk me down before I walk over there and do something stupid.

I can’t call Levi. He can’t know about any of this. So I call the only other pathetic sap I know.

“Yeah?” Dean answers. A kid babbles happily in the background before a door clicks shut, cutting the sound off.

“How do you stop yourself from killing someone for touching your woman?” I ask.

There’s a short beat of silence.

“Not really something I struggle with,” Dean says flatly. “The only asshole who’s ever tried that is you.”

God, he’s dramatic. I never actually touched her. I just…suggested it. In my defense, his wife is gorgeous and I was only half-serious.

“But if it was someone else?” I press.

Dean pauses. “I’d probably do it.”

I roll my eyes. Easy for him to say. Taking a life isn’t nothing. The adrenaline, the thoughts that follow you home, the way your hands shake for days afterward—it fucks with your head. You get numb to it eventually, but I don’t think Dean’s built for that.

“You’re supposed to be talking me down, not encouraging me,” I mutter.

“You’re serious.” Dean actually sounds amused, which for him is basically hysterical. “You’re seeing someone?”

“Clearly. She’s on a date with someone else right now and I’m not…handling it well.”

“Why is she on a date with someone else?”

“Long story,” I say tightly. “She doesn’t want to be, but it doesn’t matter.”

Dean exhales. “Here’s what you do: take a breath, go slash his tires. While he’s out there dealing with it, swoop in and take her home.”

I stare at the wall. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Course it is,” he says, deadpan. “Better invite me to the wedding.”

I grimace.

I hang up before he can say anything else.

I’m never getting married.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the thought off. I’ve never been the marrying kind. Never wanted it. Never even considered it.