Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

Excusing myself, I got up and walked straight to the back. Cabot smiled when he saw me.

“Miro, I put the pizzas in.”

“Perfect,” I said, passing him quickly and walking up on Terry, who was now punching orders into a POS.

He was taller than me, but I had muscle on him, lots of it, and so when I grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the wall, he didn’t move. Instead he immediately began pleading.

“Miro,” Cabot gasped, frightened for his job, I was sure.

“Listen to me,” I said, leaning in close beside Terry’s ear so I could deliver my threat in a whisper. “If you ever put your hands on Cabot again, eye fuck him, or even smile in a way that’s pervy, I will come back here and rip out your lungs. Are we clear?”

He nodded quickly.

“Are you sure?”

More nodding.

“Excellent,” I huffed, letting him go, leaning back so he could map my frame and get an idea of the muscle I had that he didn’t. Normally I didn’t go in for intimidation tactics, but in this case, it was necessary.

His eyes flitted to look everywhere but at me. After a moment, I turned, took hold of Cabot’s bicep, and walked him back out to the dining floor with me.

“Miro, I could have handled—”

“Drake’s worried that you’re thinking of moving out because you need space, but it’s not that at all. You’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with Terry without having to tell Drake, and it’s been weighing on you, huh, kid?”

He was holding his breath, but after a moment, he gave up. “Yeah,” he confessed, staring at his shoes like they were important.

“Look at me.”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine.

“You have a problem, any kind of problem—money, scary neighbors, older guys pawing you, a teacher who hits on you, or Drake freaking out—you tell me. That’s what I’m here for, to remove obstacles.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Whatever it is,” I insisted, “I’ll take care of it. And yes, it’s my job, but you and Drake are a special case for me and Ian. You know that.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, okay.”

“So talk to Drake and clear the air, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good. Now get me some food before I pass out.”

He chuckled and returned to the kitchen as I rejoined Ian and Drake.

“Something wrong?” Ian asked as I slid in beside him, his hand immediately sliding over my upper thigh. It was intimate and sexy, and when he leaned in to listen to whatever I had to say, his breath on my ear gave me goose bumps.

“No,” I managed to get out. “Cabot’s bringing out our food soon.”

“That’s good,” Ian rumbled, his voice like a caress.

“Let’s go home after this.”

“Good idea,” he agreed quickly, his fingers tracing over the inseam of my jeans.

Ian, who had never been sensual in the past, had become sex on two legs. Ever since we first started sleeping together, he thrummed with a new understanding of how his body responded to pleasure, and the new ease with which he carried himself was irresistible. Ian had always been gorgeous, but now he oozed confidence and the promise of wicked pleasure. I wanted him under me again as soon as possible.

“Excuse me.”

We all looked up and there, hovering over us, was a man I didn’t know and Terry, whom I had just assaulted in the kitchen.

“I need you to leave,” the man directed. “I’m Brad Rigby, the assistant manager here, and you—”

“What’s the problem?” Ian asked, pulling his ID from the breast pocket of his leather jacket and flipping it open.

Brad blanched when he realized Ian was a federal marshal.

“Did you want to check his out too?” Ian asked, scowling, tipping his head at me. “Or are we good here?”

It was hard for someone to back down after they’d been charged up, adrenaline pumping, for a fight. Brad was doing his job, defending his employee; he simply didn’t know that his guy was the one in the wrong.

Six months ago, Ian would have climbed over me to get out of the booth, physically pushed Brad, and backed him into a corner. The Ian sitting beside me now let Brad collect himself and back down.

I knew it was because of me. Because I loved him, because he had a home, because he was no longer a stray, it wasn’t necessary for him to win at everything anymore. He didn’t have to be the scariest and toughest. He could be himself, not only strong and brave, but also kind and gentle. Ian was now grounded and secure. He wasn’t angry all the time. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone because I was the only one who mattered. If only he’d realize getting married was the logical next step in that transformation.

“Well?” Ian pressed the manager, bringing my attention to the present.