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“I said I’m fine.” I grab a rag and wipe down the bar with unnecessary force. “There are customers waiting.”

Jax hesitates, then nods, returning to his side of the bar. The easy camaraderie from earlier evaporates, replaced by a tension that manifests in my shoulders and at the base of my skull.

I steal a glance at him as he mixes a drink, his movements fluid and precise. The heat of his body lingers on my skin. He didn’t even hesitate to stand between me and danger. My chest aches, years of missing the guys filling my head with all kinds of fairy tales. But that’s not why I came back. I can’t risk more humiliation, more damage to my heart or my reputation that’s already in tatters.

Professional. That’s what I need to be. Just a bartender doing her job. Lord knows I have enough problems as it is, the last thing I need is three men that are sexier than sin messing with my head.

Chapter Twelve

JAX

There are a few things that really piss me off. Tourists who speed through our town like it’s their own personal racetrack and someone talking shit about Callie. Derek fucking crossed a line tonight. Callie tried to act like it was all okay, but I saw the moment his words hit, the way her features crumpled. My girl should never be shamed.

After I close up, I make a call to my buddy Ben and get Derek’s whereabouts. He’s still down at the hole, which is perfect for me because they don’t have cameras and no one in this town really gives a shit about him anymore. Not after he got caught trying to meet up with some sixteen-year-old from out of town.

He’s a piece of shit through and through, and tonight, he’s going to learn what happens to people who think they can fuck with Callie. I park a block away from the hole, pull on an old cap, grab the bat from the backseat of my pickup, and hop out. Gripping the bat, I storm toward the bar. They stay open an hour later than Maura’s place which is perfect timing for me.

There are barely any cars in the lot. I make my way to Derek’s fancy new Honda, swing the bat back, and smash it into the headlight. The alarm starts blaring. I ignore it, break the other headlight, then sit on the hood, resting the butt of the bat on the ground and putting my hands on top.

Derek comes busting out of the bar, stumbling from the beer and cheap liquor he’s been shooting. His bleary gaze lands on me. “Muffaucker,” he growls, running—quite terribly—over.

I don’t know if I’ll even need the bat. I let it clatter to the ground, and catch Derek’s fist, pulling him in and slamming my knee between his leg. Air whooshes out of him and he groans, toppling to the asphalt.

“I warned you,” I growl. “But you just don’t fucking listen.” I kick his stomach and he shouts for help. Dropping my knee onto his chest, I rip his hat off and shove it into the mouth, the brim stretching his mouth wide.

Someone bursts out of the bar, and I lift my gaze long enough to make eye contact with Helen, the bartender, for a moment. She sees who I have pinned and dips her head in acknowledgement and shuts the door. Leaving Derek with me.

His screams are muffled, and I stare down at him, disgust curling my upper lip.

“You’re a fucking pedo loser,” I tell him, slamming my fist into his nuts again. “You’re lucky I don’t have my knife or I’d chop your dick off.” I slap him and grip his chin, shaking him. “I don’t want you to even think her name, you understand?”

“Uck ew. Ees a ore,” he says around his hat.

Sighing, I grab the bat and stand, shaking my head. Guess I’ll be needing it after all. “What did I tell you?” The bat comes up and around, cracking into his left kneecap. Derek screams like a dying animal, probably waking up half the neighborhood.

Fucking hell.

I’ll have to be quick.

Smashing the bat into his other kneecap, shattering it as well, I watch as Derek writhes and screams and whimpers. Piss wets his pants and urine coats the air. I wrinkle my nose and kick him again for good measure, flipping the bat and catching it. I point it at his face.

“If you tell anyone, I will cut your dick off. Don’t test me.” I storm away and pull out my phone, calling Helen.

“Is he alive?”

“Unfortunately. He might need a hospital, though.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll be a good citizen.”

I open the driver’s side door of my truck. “You always were. Keep this between us?” Climbing in, I spare one last glance at the piece of shit who insulted my girl. He’s writhing on the ground in pain. I smirk.

“Of course. You owe me,” Helen says.

“Deal.” I hang up, toss my phone into the seat, and start my truck.

Like I said. No one fucks with Callie. Not anymore.

The second I push through our front door, I’m ready to collapse on my bed. Fate has other plans. Knox and Brax sit at the kitchen table, both wide awake even though it’s late and they’re usually asleep when I get home. Their matching expressions—tight-lipped and brows furrowed—tell me they know exactly where I’ve been. Great, here come the lectures.