When Frisco, Quarter, and I step off the stage, security crowds around us and leads us toward the back door.
“Easier to get you out this way, Mr. Thrasher. The crowd’s a little wild tonight.”
“Fine with me.”
“Hold up!” Frisco yells.
“What?”
“I ain’t done with tonight. I’m ready to do some real drinking and partying now.”
Quarter nods, and the head security guy looks back at me.
“Up to you, man.”
These guys have created a wall, but I can still see the hands of fans trying to touch me. I’ve accomplished what I came here to do, and there’s no reason for me to stay.
“I’m straight. You guys can hang around as long as you want.” They both reach out and we swap handshakes.
“Catch you later, brother. You slayed it tonight. This is going to be on every gossip site within hours. Boone Thrasher isback.”
I open my mouth to say that I never left, but Frisco and Quarter are already sliding out from between the security crew and disappearing into the raucous crowd.
“You ready?” one of the guys asks me.
“Yeah, let’s move.”
We start walking again, this time slower as they cut through the mass of people. We’re about ten feet from the end of the bar when I see her again.
Ripley.
Except she’s not alone. She’s pinned against the wood by two men, and has a panicked look in her eyes as she struggles to get out from between them.
I grab the shoulder of the guy in front of me. “Hold up! You got a bigger security problem than me, man.” He stops as I point at Ripley where she’s yelling to a bartender. The woman flipping bottles doesn’t catch her distress signal.
“We’ll get you out of here first, and then we’ll come back to take care of her. She’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
Ripley flings out both hands and shoves one man a foot back, but he’s on her again in less than a second.
“You got your priorities screwed up, man. Women first, every fucking time.” I duck between the two men and head for Ripley.
There’s nothing that pisses me off more than a man putting his hands on a woman who doesn’t want it, and when it comes to this woman, I’m seeing red.
“Hey! Assholes! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I dodge the grasping fingers of women trying to get to me and lose my hat in the process, but I finally get the attention of the guys trapping Ripley.
“None of your business,” the guy in a cowboy hat that looks like he bought it today slurs as Ripley’s wild gray eyes meet mine. “Move along.”
“You made it my business when she shoved you back and you couldn’t take a hint.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Without my hat on, I suppose I don’t look the same as I did onstage, but before I can tell him exactly who I am, Ripley knees him in the balls.
Triumph fills her face as he goes down, but his hand lashes out and snags her shirt, yanking it down so her tits, spilling over her bra cups, are bared.
I rear back to deliver a blow but security beats me to it, yanking the douchebag away ... but Ripley’s shirt goes with him as his grip tears it down the center.
Her hands go to her chest, trying to cover herself, and I’m more worried about her than dumbass number two.