She nods, defiance radiating off every tantalizing curve on display in the red dress that hugs her like it was made for her. “Yes. I do.”
“Funny story,” I begin in a tone that says it’s not fucking funny at all. “I’m working out at the gym, enjoying my evening when I get a call from Coop saying you’re out at a club and getting drunk. Alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she says, nose high in the air. “I’m here with Willow. Do you know Willow? She’s my friend.”
The woman beside her flashes a shaky smile and extends her hand.
“Willow. Nice to meetcha.” She gives me an appreciative stare and a knowing smile before returning to her spot beside McKenna.
“You too,” I tell her. “You have a gun in that thing?” I nod toward the tiny sparkly clutch on the table beside half a dozen empty shot glasses.
“What? Nope. That’s not my gun purse.” She giggles and leans toward me. “Silly man.”
“Pepper spray?”
The woman, Willow, shakes her head.
“A blade?”
“Nope again.” McKenna laughs.
Her friend looks down at me from the table she’s standing on. “I can kick and bite and throw a few good punches.” She looks at McKenna. “Are you in trouble or something?”
“Nope. I’m a good girl. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Bullshit,” I growl and hold out a hand which Willow happily accepts, and I help her down to the floor. “McKenna. Now.”
She rolls her eyes and stomps a foot but eventually, her soft hand is in mine, and she’s staring up at me with a defiant glint in her eyes.
“I’m fine, Mr. Ace, the asshole biker. Not that you care.”
I look around to make sure my attire, a black t-shirt and jeans with my kutte on top, doesn’t draw unnecessary attention. These people are dressed to the nines.
“If I don’t care, what the fuck am I doing here, McKenna? You know so much, tell me that.”
She shrugs and drops down on the sofa. “A twisted sense of obligation, if I had to guess.”
“Smartass.”
She’s determined to make me lose my cool, but I refuse. Not here. Not now and not with this woman. “You know it’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”
“Again,” she practically snarls at me. “What. Do. You. Care.”
I know exactly what she’s referring to, and yeah, sure, I owe her an explanation. “You’re pissed about earlier.”
McKenna sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly while shaking her head.
“No, Mark, I’m not pissed. I’m hurt. Your actions, dismissive and disrespectful, hurt my feelings. Now, if you could kindly fuck off, Willow and I can get on with our night.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening, sweetheart. It’s not safe out here for you. Either of you.” I add Willow to the mix, hoping she can talk some sense into her friend.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Kenna, what does he mean it’s not safe?”
McKenna tosses her head dismissively, and I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Mark, don’t.” Her pleading tone might have worked on another night.
“Didn’t tell me what,” Willow asks, her tone growing with fear and worry.
“Grace was killed. Murdered, actually.”
“Kenna?”
McKenna nods but keeps her head down. “It was horrible, Willow.”
“It was worse than horrible,” I assure her. “And I have a lead, which is why I’m here.”
“A lead?” Kenna perks up momentarily, still angry and still defiant.
“Yeah, a lead. You want to hear it, or you want to keep acting like a brat?”
McKenna pushes off the sofa and turns to face me. “Fuck. You.” With all the strength she can muster, she pushes me backward and storms off.
I turn to Willow. “Wait here. Don’t leave, not by yourself or with anyone else. Got it?”
She nods, and I turn my attention back to McKenna, who seems to have just fucking disappeared into the crowd. Searching for blonde hair doesn’t help because every other chick in this place is a blonde. I cut through the crowd easily, using my height to scan the area for a sexy little red dress.
I spot her on the other side of the fucking dance floor and pick up my pace, making it to McKenna and her dance partner in a few long strides. They’re both moving to a beat, just not the one blasting from the speakers. The guy is getting close—too close—and she’s squirming in search of freedom.
“McKenna.”
“Back off, asshole, she’s with me.” The guy is wearing a colorful shirt made of rayon or some other fake silk, two small gold chains hanging around his neck, and a giant cubic zirconia in his left ear.
“You got a hearing problem, asshole?”
“Nope. My hearing is just fine.”
“Then get the fuck outta here. This one is taken.”
I smile. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, it is. And if you don’t want to get the shit kicked out of you, I suggest…”
I don’t let the fucker give me any suggestions. I pull back and jab him straight on, hearing his nose crack over the shitty dance music.