Letting out a sigh, he shoves the guy to the floor where he crumples into a sad heap. He walks to the other sink and washes his hands. Water runs pink, then clear.
He doesn’t rush.
The same hands that just broke bone move like this is routine.
I don’t look away.
Then he turns to me, placing both of his hands on my shoulders, his eyes locked on mine.
His touch heats me instantly. It’s a simple touch, his palms heavy, but he’s got the attention from deep within my core.
He could hurt me just as easily.
I don’t step back.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” He asks.
“I’m okay,” I nod, trying to push aside the way my body feels right now. “Just a little shaken up.”
“Let’s go,” he says.
He holds open the saloon door and we walk out.
He nods to the bartender on our way out, and gestures with his thumb toward the saloon door. “There’s some cleanup to do in there.”
The bartender nods. Just another regular Friday for him, most likely.
We step out, and the night has grown more humid. The stickiness reminds me of the surface of the dive bar, full of stories, some of which are probably better left unsaid.
We walk past a few alleyways, dark and slick. Cigarette smoke permeates the night air. A woman’s laugh rings out from nearby and just sounds wrong somehow. Heat still radiates from the concrete, a reminder of the earlier sunshine. Broken glass glitters under a streetlamp.
The grit of the city somehow makes the earlier events of the evening a little more normal. Even though there was nothing normal about the way Soren arranged that creep’s face.
A man standing by a lamppost stares at us a fraction too long, and Soren’s jaw tightens, and so does his grip on me.
I feel it before I see it.
A part of me waits—just for a second—to see what he’ll do.
For a moment I think he’s going to punch him in the face, but then— just as quickly—he recovers himself and he smiles at me, loosely putting an arm around my lower back.
I breathe a sigh of relief at a confrontation avoided.
We hop in a taxi and pull away. Music plays from the speakers, more bass than melody. Buildings whiz by, darker than earlier. Somehow there’s even more grit to the city now, shadowslooming taller than before. It’s harder-edged, more intimate, more dangerous.
And I realize I like that—I like it here. I can see myself learning the city’s secrets, immersing myself in the history and becoming part of its fabric.
That sounds a hell of a lot better than where I’m living now.
In the back seat, I curl into the nook of Soren’s shoulder. He’s so large that I fit perfectly. He feels solid. Protective. Safe.
Heat soaks through his shirt.
My thigh presses to his. I don’t fix it.
I tilt my head up, and his eyes meet mine. “Thank you for what you did back there,” I say. “That wasn’t going to end well until you intervened.”
“I would never let anything bad happen to you, Ivy. I’m never leaving your side again.”