“Yes,” Rayne said shakily as he glanced around the small group of men surrounding him. Even Bishop had come from out of the gallery and was watching the interaction. “Wood, help me. I think that dick is still chasing me.”
“Who’s chasing you?” Mike asked sharply before anyone else could form the question.
“I told him no, Wood. I promise. I was on my way down here to see you because I saw you guys’s ad. I stopped a few blocks up at Guadalajaras for a drink when I saw this guy I used to mess with. Which isn’t unusual. He tried to talk me up, but I told him no and left. I said it loud too. But he wouldn’t stop following me and asking me…” Rayne’s anxious gray eyes darted around the room before he lowered his voice. “To his hotel room.”
Trent couldn’t help but notice how hard and intently Mike was staring at Wood’s friend. The guy was tall, maybe a few inches over his own five eleven. He was all style and swagger in his ripped jeans that were tight in all the right places. And his V-neck sweater looked so soft Trent thought it might even be cashmere.
“He got rough, and when he grabbed my arm, I pulled out my stun gun and zapped his ass with it,” Rayne said in a hurry as if saying it quickly wouldn’t make it a crime.
“Sounds like self-defense to me,” Mike said, still seeming heavily interested for reasons Trent didn’t understand.
“It was,” Rayne urged, gripping the ends of his wavy hair. “I swear, Wood.”
“It’s all right, just calm down. Did you see if the guy got back up?” El asked, peering out the window.
“He did and I ran. I think he—”
The door to the shop jerked open, and a man the size of Bishop stormed in with a couple of men behind him looking as if he’d, well, just been shocked with fifty thousand volts of electricity.
El scurried out the way like an extra in a scary movie. The other three artists there didn’t move from their stations as they watched what was happening. Trent stood shoulder to shoulder with Bishop, staying close in case they needed to do something. What surprised the hell out of them was how Mike yanked Rayne behind him, securing him to his body with his forearm while he skillfully flipped out his switchblade.
The sound of the knife slicing through the air made the three idiots come to a sudden halt, or maybe it was the promise of serious injury that could be seen in Mike’s eyes if they continued. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys want, but if it’s him, you better turn the fuck around now.”
“Mike, put that thing away. I got this,” Wood snapped, raising a placating hand in Mike’s direction.
“Then handle it,” Mike snarled, still holding the young man close to him.
Trent kept cutting his eyes from the assholes threatening to call the police to the way this Rayne guy had his face buried against Mike’s shoulder, his lean fingers clutching his waist. Even Bishop was watching his father and the fierce protectiveness he was showing this stranger.
“If you wanna call the cops, then do it. But you’ll have to call them from out there on the sidewalk. I’m one of the managers here, and I’ve asked you to leave. Now you’re trespassing,” Wood said.
The leader in front, with the thick neck and military buzz cut, nodded slowly, his narrowed eyes on the scared man behind Mike’s shoulder as if he was promising retribution. “You win this time, slut,” the guy said nastily. “You weren’t that good anyway, was he, Mitch?”
“Nope,” said the muscled gym rat standing with him. “I don’t like ’em that easy anyway.”
Trent’s eyes widened along with the others who were standing around listening, as realization settled in. These guys must’ve taken turns with him, and now they were actually shaming him for not being allowed to get more… Damn, that’s fucked-up. Trent glanced in Rayne’s direction, and it was as if someone had slung a dark cloud over his head and a hailstorm had begun to rain down on him. A pool of water formed in his pretty eyes, his peach lips trembling from the humiliation. Trent recognized that kind of beaten-down spirit … he’d had it himself long ago. Before he knew it, he was getting pissed as he balled his fists at his sides and let the wave of anger wash over him like toxic fumes.
“Chill out,” Bishop mumbled. “Dad’s got this one.”
Mike’s muscles in his forearm bulged as he stared down each of the men. It’d been a long time since Trent had seen Mike respond this way, and it was all for this unique stranger. Mike’s voice was sharper than the blade he held. “He asked you nicely to leave. Now I’m telling you to get the fuck out.” As if they realized this was no longer a game, they slowly began to reverse their steps. “And if one of you trifling motherfuckers even looks back at him… I’m gonna change your fuckin’ lives forever.”