Speed King (Men of Action 1)

A quiet hush falls between us, not acknowledging the dumbass. Harley speaks first. “Casanovas?”

“Stupid nickname,” I answer her lowly, trying not to growl.

“Oh, that’s right, it’s not discussed.” Glen ignores the rising tension.

“It’s not discussed because it’s bullshit,” Talon grinds out.

“The flock of women, the secluded mansion on the hill, the revolving door… You may be a bunch of playboys, but —”

“I’d be careful how you finish that statement, Glen.” I tighten my hold on Harley, twisting her to me protectively.

We go into a stare-down, his face heating as his eyes roam over my position and fall on the arm wrapped over her shoulder. My scorching glare tells him everything he needs to know.

“I wasn’t aware the Casanovas had favorites.”

“That’s because you don’t know me well enough. But we will get acquainted really quick if you look at her like that again.”

“We have a problem, Kingston?”

“Not if you hear what I’m saying… loud and clear.”

He takes a step back, throwing his hands in the air. “Point made.” He turns to leave.

“Shit!” I hiss, a searing pain shooting through my abdomen. Harley’s nails dig harder, then twist right before she pushes away.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

She glares angrily and opens her mouth, no doubt to blast me, when her gaze travels over my shoulder and she jumps into motion. “Crap!” She scampers away, rushing behind the bar to help Jewls. In the few minutes Harley was with us, the crowd increased massively.

Tom delivers four bottles of beer, waving that he’s got this round, and goes to another group of men waiting to be served. I continue standing, sipping the beer, and observing the room. There are a few servers assigned to tables, but most customers have grouped around the bar. It’s easy to tell why. Harley and Jewls are the center of attention. No matter what, the men all wait patiently for them to approach.

“Told you she was popular with the crowd,” Talon reminds me.

“And I told you I’m not surprised.”

My skin prickles with the familiar sensation of being watched. I spot Glen, surrounded by six other men I recognize, glowering our way. Shot glasses and beer bottles litter the table in front of them. I catch the mixture of bloodshot sheen and anger in his expression.

Great, he’s drunk and pissed.

He holds my glare until Harley steps in front of him, cleaning the mess and offering another round. His eyes drop to her, then back to me, licking his lips as an evil grin crosses his mouth. He leans in, places his hand over hers, and says something in her ear.

She politely slips her hand away, stepping back and pasting on a fake smile. Her body language screams uncomfortable, and I slam my beer on the bar top so hard the sound echoes enough to get their attention.

It also catches Tom’s attention because, in less than a second, he’s blocking my view. “No trouble tonight, Ace.”

“He needs to go.”

“His buddies already paid the tab. They’re on their way out the door. He’s had his sights on Harley for a while, and tonight, he probably figured out he has no chance. His arrest today added to his already inflated ego.”

“He’s the one with the arrest?” I snarl, remembering the noise when we walked in.

“Sure as shit is, been bragging for hours. He couldn’t turn her head. You’re in here less than two minutes and she’s in your arms. I think he knows he’s lost this battle.”

“If he doesn’t know now, he’ll know next time he touches her.”

“My advice?”

I pull my eyes from Glen. “What’s that?”

“Don’t let your own ego get in the way. There are many more Glens out there looking for their chance.”

It’s impossible not to catch the meaning in his words. I glance back to Glen, who’s stumbled off his stool and is arguing with the guys trying to gear him toward the door. The thought of him and many like him thinking they have a shot with Harley rolls disgust in my gut. I’ve always considered myself not good enough, but dickheads like him don’t deserve the time of day from her.

“I will say this, Rich describes you as a man of action with one exception.”

“I think you’ve figured out the exception,” Major notes matter-of-factly.

“I’ve known the exception since Ace was eighteen-years-old, but times have changed. I’m looking forward to seeing how this plays out.” Tom jerks his chin and walks away.

I catch Harley watching us and shaking her head.

“Why do I think that we’ll be spending at least three nights a week here?” Talon asks no one in particular.

“Tom might want to put our names on these stools,” Major concludes.

“Well, since Ace works tomorrow night, I’m on duty.” Ford takes the task with a knowing smirk. “Guess we found our new hang-out.”

4

Harley

This is it… the time I’ll look back on my life and realize ‘Harley, you are officially a stalker.’