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“I’m sorry,” he splutters, sweat tricking down his face.
“Next time, read the fucking room, asshole. And don’t come back to Venom. You’re not welcome anymore.”
I step back and nod to Benson, who comes over and grabs Labatt. Benson is a massive ex-Special Forces dude with zero personality and he even scares me at times. Labatt will be thrown out into the back alley and probably roughed up a little to ensure he gets the message. And if he ever shows his face in here again, it will be a lot worse.
“Fucking abusive asshole,” Rory mutters as Benson leads a blubbering Labatt away while I tuck my Glock back into my shoulder holster.
I’m expecting an effusive “thank you” at the very least but she spins and walks away, heading for the stairs and the exit. For a moment, I’m too surprised, but then I realize she’s getting away from meagain, so I chase her, catching up with her in a few strides.
“Yes?” she says abruptly, glancing at her watch.
“Are you OK?”
She seems genuinely surprised by the question.
“I will be once I get home. Are we done? I’m in a hurry.”
“You’ve completed your paperwork?” I know she has. I’m stalling because I don’t want her to leave yet, which is ridiculous. Normally, by now, women are all over me like a rash and I’m itching to cut them loose.Rory is the exception, it seems. First, she disappeared after an incredible night, not even bothering to leave her number, and now she’s reappeared, she seems remarkably ungrateful I saved her fromanotherasshole. If this was any other woman, I’d have thrown in the towel by now and accepted defeat.
“Yes.” She taps her foot with irritation, glancing at her watch pointedly.
My jaw clenches while I fight to keep the irritation I’m feeling from showing on my face.
“Perhaps you’d like to stay for a drink? On the house.”
“No. We both know how that ended last time,” she points out, refusing to look me in the eye. Anyone would think our previous interaction was a complete disappointment to her. Is she fucking gaslighting me? I’m starting to feel seriously pissed that her recollection of events is different to mine.
“I can’t, I need to get home,” she says, before tacking on “sorry” as an afterthought.
“OK, I’ll give you a ride.”
“No, it’s fine, I can catch the bus—” she protests, but I’ve had enough. We need to talk and here is not the place for that conversation. If she still wants to treat me like a fucking pariah after we’ve had an honest conversation, then fine. I will respect her boundaries.
Maybe.
Not promising anything.
“Follow me.” There appears to be some kind of internal dialog before her shoulders slump, and she sighs.
“OK, fine.” Jesus, you’d think I was dragging the damned stubborn woman into the fiery pits of Hell rather than giving her a ride home!
Chapter 13
Rory
Romano owns the world’s flashiest car. Of course, he does. The guy is sex on legs, so he’d need a car that matches his image. It’s a sleek matt black number. I’m not a car person but even I know Maseratis are hellishly expensive. But I refuse to let him see I’m a teeny bit impressed. It would only inflate his ego even more.
I sniff disdainfully as he presses a button and the car beeps.
“Doesn’t seem like a practical car,” I point out, noting that there’s no room for a child’s car seat or even groceries.
Romano’s jaw ticks but he manages to force a smile out. “It’s not, but it can do 0-60 in 4.8 seconds.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Do you get a lot of speeding tickets?”
At that, he grins. “Nope. I’m good friends with the Chief of Police.”
My eyes roll so far back in my head that it’s a wonder I don’t fall over. Resisting the urge to make any more smart comments, I climb into the wholly impractical vanity car. Mom keeps texting, asking where I am, so I let her know I’m on my way home.
