Idiot. That was fucking years ago.And Dante knew it too. He’d had a thousand and one flashbacks since that day and possessed the tools to deal with them.
Shame he’d forgotten where he’d stashed them. Nauseous, he fought to stay in the present, but deep voices, inflected with an Albanian growl, filled his senses, and as Anna slipped out from behind him, he staggered back against the counter.
But the counter wasn’t there. Instead of cool marble, he met warm, unyielding flesh, and soft lips brushed his ear. “Easy,” Sid whispered. “They’re her friends.”
“I know.”
“Take a breath.”
“I’m already breathing, thanks.”
“Do it anyway.”
“Only if you stay right there.”
Sid squeezed Dante’s shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Dante took a breath, hating the weakness that overshadowed any joy that came from having Sid pressed so close to him, and watched as Anna’s friends scooped her up, the biggest dude tossing her over his shoulder as she screamed and swatted his back.
“That’s Saban,” Sid murmured. “He’s a vegan bodybuilder and wouldn’t hurt a fly, not even one as annoying as Anna.”
“I don’t care who he is.”
“Then listen when I tell youwhathe is.”
“I don’t care about that either.” But Dante was lying, and he wondered if Sid, even from behind him, knew that Dante’s laser-sharp attention was scrambling between where Saban’s big hands gripped Anna’s thighs, and where the other two men stood, blocking the exit. If he could feel that Dante’s heart was stampeding because of someone else, and not him, and that the sensation of it made Dante want to slam his head on the marble counter.
Saban set Anna down, and all three men cast friendly glances over Dante’s shoulder, at Sid, then brought their curiosity back to Dante.
Hot, dry emotions flared in Dante’s gut. Fear, anxiety, whatever. He didn’t care what it was called. All he knew was the second one of these goons stepped to him, he’d explode.
The tension was painful, and he distantly wondered if it was how Sid felt all the time—wound so tight he was scared his nerves would snap beneath his skin.
“Guys,” Anna said quietly—too fucking quietly. “This is Dante. He works with Sid.”
Saban’s expression broke into an amiable grin, and the reasonable man Dante wanted to be stood down, extended his hand, and even smiled.
But Dante wasn’t a reasonable man. Not yet, and maybe not ever.
His gaze flickered to the hallway door behind Saban’s broad shoulders as he pictured what he’d have to do if the friendly giant turned douchebag. He’d seen Luis fight bigger men and win, so he knew it was possible.Fight clever. Fight dirty. Stab that motherfucker if you have to.
Oblivious to Dante’s murderous thoughts, Saban moved closer and held out his hand. Dante balled his own into fists, chest expanding, lava racing with adrenaline, searing his nerves and every synapse he needed to make good decisions.Don’t do it. Don’t do it.But he had to. He’d trusted people before, and he had the scars to prove it.
“Anyway.” Sid stepped in front of him, blocking Saban’s path. “Whatever,sister. We were just going.”
“No, you weren’t,” Anna protested before Sid silenced her with a look Dante couldn’t see.
She snapped her mouth shut and shot Dante an apologetic glance he didn’t deserve.
Dante kept his gaze on Saban and his friends until he thought he might puke, then averted it to the flagstone floor.
Sid touched his elbow. “Come on. I’m fucked. I need to go home.”
In any other context, Dante might’ve believed him, but he didn’t now. He couldn’t. And shame swept through him as Sid towed him out of the cottage and shut the door behind them.
Only then did he breathe, sharp and shallow, head spinning, heart hammering.You fucking idiot.
“Hey.” Sid pressed himself into Dante’s personal space, crowding him in the shadowed moonlight. “It’s okay.”