Mac (Mountain Men 2)

But the entire drive into town, she looks like she's holding back something. Like she wants to say it but can't quite do it. I think about actually trying to make her feel more confident about it, whatever it is. Maybe she wants to admit something about her father, and that could come in handy. But I don't want to push her, I don't want her feeling uncomfortable about anything. My whole goal is to allow her to trust me, so I can do what I must.

She gets a few messages on her mobile, and she answers them quietly. Then we finally pull up to her store, and she smiles.

“You sure it makes sense for me to take everything with me, then?”

“Aye, lass, of course.”

“It might be a lot, though…”

I give her a teasing swat as we enter the shop. “I said it’s fine.”

“Thanks, Mac,” she says, as she walks to the back of the shop. She trembles a little, and she’s gone quite still.

“I feel like… there’s something I need to tell you.” Her brow furrows, as if she’s worried about something.

“Aye? Anything.”

Is she afraid to talk to me? The wee bonnie lass.

“This is… hard to say,” she whispers. “I just…” She looks around the shop, and bites her lip. Maybe she wants to tell me something but is afraid of being overheard. Is she looking for a bug somewhere? My eyes follow hers around the shop, looking for clues that someone's listening.

“Come to the back room,” she says quietly.

I nod and follow her. She’s only a few paces ahead of me, but suddenly, she lets out an ear-piercing scream that makes my heart nearly burst. The sight I see makes me nearly lose my fucking mind.

Her bodyguard’s got her in a viselike grip, his hand squeezing her arm so tightly, I can already see marks.

I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.

I don’t care if he’s Aitkens stock. I don’t care that killing him could set off a war between our families.

He touched my girl.

“Let her fucking go!”

He turns to me, throws her to the ground, and ducks my blow. He attacks, clearly trained and ready to take me down, but he isn’t fueled by my feelings toward her.

He’s angry.

I’m ready to kill.

“Mac!” Bryn screams when he hits me straight in the gut. I quickly recover from the blow. I deflected most of it, only winded for seconds before I shove him bodily into the wall. Shelves fall and glass crashes to the floor. She screams again when he punches my jaw, but it’s a weak, fruitless punch. This arsehole’s mine.

I shove him into the wall, his back slamming with the force of a gavel as I knock the wind out of him, again and again. Boom. Boom. Boom.

He groans, weakening, as I spin him around and throw him to the floor. He tries to come up swinging, but I easily deflect, swivel, and throw a punch that knocks him back to the floor. In seconds, I’ve got him pinned beneath my knee, my hands around his throat.

I see red, unable to stop my fists from flying. Bryn’s screaming but I don’t bloody care, I can’t fucking stop myself if I tried. It’s satisfying to feel his face snap beneath my fist, his blood staining my knuckles.

I grab him by the shirt, fisting the fabric.

“You don’t ever fucking touch her again. I don’t care who you bloody are, you ever threaten her, touch her, or do anything other than protect her again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” I give him a vicious shake. “Do you understand me?”

He turns his head and spits out blood, groaning. “Khristos. Let me up.”

I shake him again, and his head smashes on the floor. “I said, do you understand me?”

“I do,” he groans. I get up off him and pull him to standing. I shake him by the front of his shirt.

“Now tell her you’re sorry.”

He glares at me, and I shake him again. “I said tell her you’re fuckin’ sorry, or we do this all over again.”

He hangs his head, the picture of insolence, as he mutters, “I’m sorry.”

“If your captain knew what you did, he’d cut your hands off at the fucking wrists,” I say, giving him another shake. I have no bloody idea if that’s what he’d do, but it’s what I’d do, and I’m not his goddamn boss.

I jerk my head at Bryn. “Call your father. Get him on the phone. Tell him what he did.”

“Who are you?” he growls, glaring at me.

I yank him up to me so we’re eye to eye. “I’m her fucking boyfriend. Anything else you want to say to me?”

His eyes widen when he takes in the tattoo on my neck. He probably knows exactly who I am. I almost feel guilty, afraid that he'll run and report me to her father, that she’ll get into trouble. But we're in too deep now, and I know exactly what my plans are.