Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

Ty didn’t want to be that guy. The one whose charges always got the drop on him. Losing his fucking principal was inexcusable. With Laura Prentiss—aforementioned pop princess—it had been embarrassing, but it had ultimately ended well. But if Vicki got hurt because he’d done such a piss poor job of protecting her, he didn’t think he’d recover from it. Or ever forgive himself.

He did another visual sweep of the road and…

“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” he muttered, from between his teeth, ignoring the overwhelming tide of relief that threatened to send him to his knees. “I’ll kill her, I’ll fucking…”

The huddle of wasted guys down the road had parted to reveal the two giggling women in their midst. One cheeky drunk bastard had an arm curled around Vicki’s waist, and she was snort laughing at whatever he was whispering in her ear.

Livid that the women had shown zero regard for his stern command that they stay put and pissed off with himself for not keeping a closer eye on them—her—in the first place, Ty closed the distance between himself and the merry group in ten seconds flat.

Vicki, who was in the process of pushing the clingy fucker’s hand away from her ass, froze when she saw him.

“Ruh roh,” she said, in a comically terrible Scooby Doo voice, her pretty gray eyes so wide they practically swallowed her face. The guys remained oblivious to his presence. Handsy was still trying get his paw on Vicki’s pert ass, and she absently pushed it aside. Irritation flashed over her face when the guy’s hand drifted south again mere seconds after her rejection.

She tried to wriggle away, but his arm tightened around her waist, and her brow creased.

“I don’t normally go for birds with glasses, but you’re okay,” Prince Charming informed her generously.

“Yeah?” Vicki responded; her speech was starting to slur. “I don’t normally go for guys with small dicks, but you’re probably okay too. Nah, scratch that, I have standards. You’re well below them.” The guy draped all over her was too drunk to truly register much, but the words “small dick”—along with his buddies’ sniggers—were enough to get his back up.

“Oi, now see here you little bi—”

Right. That was about enough of that. Ty stepped forward, and the guys finally registered his presence.

“Back off, asshole,” he told Handsy, who glared at him and, unwisely, tightened his arm around Vicki’s waist again.

“Ooh, a Yank,” the dumbass jeered before launching into a ridiculous accent that Ty assumed was meant to be an imitation of his. “What you gonna do, pardner? Shoot me?”

Fuck this asshole. With the residual bitter tang of fear still coating his tongue, and his self-directed anger at losing track of Victoria Hollingsworth, for even just a few minutes, eating him up inside, Ty was pumped for an outlet. Unfortunately, he couldn’t go around thrashing idiots for no reason, especially when he could wipe the floor with them.

But when the guy’s hand, again, reached for Vicki’s ass, Ty saw red and reacted with lightning sharp reflexes. He grabbed the offending appendage and bent it backward until it hurt just enough to make the guy squeal. Finding herself abruptly released, Vicki stumbled toward Bella.

“Fuuuuck! Ow!” the guy yelped, causing the other four surged toward Ty and their hapless buddy. Ty reversed his grip, and folded the asshole’s arm behind his back, flipping him around to face his friends. The group staggered to a confused halt.

“How about you gentlemen move along without fuss, and I don’t break your friend’s arm?” He had no intention of doing any such thing, in fact he made sure that the fool was only marginally uncomfortable, and not in any real pain.

He twisted the arm higher, and the guy cried out. “Shit, come on, man…Le’ me go!”

Ty bent to mutter in the other man’s ear. “Next time a woman pushes your hand off her ass multiple times, she’s probably not interested. Clear?”

Ty shoved him toward his friends, but they weren’t prepared for his weight, and they all went tumbling in a heap of arms and legs. Ty turned away from them—never losing track of their movements—and shifted his attention to the women.

Vicki was glaring at him, her glasses askew, her black hair rioting around her face in a mass of silky, luxurious curls. She looked pissed off. Well, he didn’t give a fuck. He was calling it.

“We’re leaving.”

“What? No way. The night’s still young.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“So? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin or something? No, that was the carriage…you’re more like a footman and they were lizards, right? Snakes? Or were they rats?”

Jesus, this woman. Ty’s jaw felt like it would crack, he was gritting his teeth so hard. She would singlehandedly undo the years of orthodontic work his parents had spent so much money on.

“My point is, that the pubs are closed or will be closing soon. And since you can barely stand upright anyway, it’s probably best to call it a night.”