“Hate to tell you.” He pats my shoulder as if pulling me into his confidence, but I lean away. “Karen says Goldie took up with that damn Frenchman.”
I shrug. “It’s all good. Amy’s the girl for me.”
“Right,” he nods, his slimy grin returning.
“So tell me about this blend.”
“Ahh,” he growls. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, old man.”
My brow tightens, and I watch him lean heavily on the bar. I want him to say it so I can break his face. My fingers are twitching, and I’m right on the edge.
I have an idea.
Plastering on a cocky grin, I lean against the bar facing him. “Worried about the statute of limitations?”
Another congestive laugh. “Maybe.” He scans the crowd, and I follow his line of sight to Amy doing a little twist-dance with C.J. She’s so pretty. “Look at her move. I’m sure she feels amazing awake, but I tell you,” he gives me a sick wink. “She’s just as hot unconscious.”
That does it. Before he knows what’s coming, I bunch the neck of his shirt in one hand and jerk him up straight. “Merritt! Wha—” My fist slams into his fucking mouth before he even fi
nishes.
Shrieks ripple through the patrons waiting beside us, and the crowd parts to let Dickweed hit the floor with a SLAM!
He’s out, but I don’t give a shit. I step over his fat carcass to grab his shirtfront again, so I can pull him up and slam my fist into his face another time. He’s drunk, and I want him to feel this beating tomorrow.
“Marcus!” A male voice cuts through the crowd. I don’t even look up.
Fury burns in my chest, driving me on. I plan to leave a lasting impression on this slimy toad. He fucked up hurting the woman I love.
Roland’s face is slick with dark red blood, and my fist glances off his cheekbone. That one hurt, but I don’t care. I’m winding up for Slam number three, when my arm is trapped against a firm torso.
I’m pulled roughly away, and two men block me from finishing that fucking criminal. It’s Evan and Paul. Kitty must be somewhere in the crowd.
“Roland!!!” Karen’s scream bounces off the walls.
I vaguely notice strobes flashing all around us. Paparazzi push through the gawkers to capture us both. I’m sure they got the whole thing.
Nobody leaves the restaurant. Instead it seems to have grown even more crowded. Twenty smart phones are pointed in our direction, and it looks like we’ll be the lead story tomorrow.
“What the fuck?” Evan hisses low in my ear. He’s got a firm grip on me, and it’s a good thing. I don’t care who sees.
I’ve got a lot more where that came from for Roland Dickweed Dickerson. I want him in the hospital. Better yet, I want him dead.
“Let’s go,” Paul barks, helping Evan drag me away.
“Where’s Amy?” I look around the room, but I don’t see her anywhere. I also don’t see C.J. “Amy!” I shout, getting no answer.
The room is chaos, and a wall of well-dressed spectators push forward to take a photo of Roland on his back, his face covered in blood. From what I can tell over Karen’s shoulder, he’s not moving. Satisfaction fills my chest.
“Somebody call 911!” she screams.
“I’ll find Amy,” Paul says. “Kitty and I can drive her home. You need to go.”
Evan tries to lead me to the side exit. “We’ll do damage control tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow I’m reporting his ass to the state bar,” I growl, grabbing my associate’s shoulder and moving him aside. “Right now I’m finding Amy.”
She came here with me, and I won’t leave her alone with these snakes. I’m nearly to the back of the restaurant when I see her guarded by C.J. and a very young looking male dressed as colorfully as her friend.