Shane hesitated a second before he laughed, slapping Braden on the shoulder. “You’re Patrick O’Shea’s son, right down to the threats. And here I thought you were too good to get your hands dirty.”
Even though the bastard had touched Braden, he wasn’t about to take the bait Shane dangled in front of him. Flexing his fists, Braden was more than ready to hit Shane, but he knew deep down he wasn’t like his father.
Braden had never ordered anyone to be killed, had always said he wouldn’t. Right now, though, he was reconsidering that promise he’d made to himself.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he promised just as two security men in black suits came to show Shane the door.
They didn’t put their hands on him, as that would’ve caused even more of a scene, but they did flank either side of the nuisance and walk him toward the closest exit. People around him stared for only a moment before going back to their conversations. Nearly everyone knew to mind their business if they wanted to remain in the O’Sheas’ tight circle.
As soon as Shane was gone, Braden went back in with Zara.
“You okay here?” Mac whispered behind him.
With a nod, Braden wrapped his arm around Zara’s waist. “We’re fine. Cover for me.” He silently led her to the small sitting room off the ballroom and closed the door behind him before turning to face Zara. She rubbed her arm, and it took all of Braden’s willpower not to rush back out and follow through on his need to punch Shane.
Braden gently took Zara’s other arm, trying to ignore the brush of his knuckles against the side of her breast, and guided her toward one of the leather club chairs.
Flicking on the light on the accent table by the chair, Braden squatted down in front of her.
“Braden—”
He held up his hand, cutting her off. “Let me see your arm.”
“I’m fine. I really need to get back to work. I’m sorry I caused a scene.”
“Either pull your sleeve up or pull the shoulder down so I can see.”
Zara hesitated a moment, then pulled the material off her shoulder, exposing creamy white skin and a royal blue strap from her bra. She shrugged enough to pull her arm up a bit.
Rage bubbled within Braden at the sight of blue fingerprint-shaped bruises already forming on her flawless skin. “I should’ve knocked him out.”
Slowly, Braden eased the material back over her arm and shoulder. Her eyes held his and her body trembled as she placed her hand over his, halting his movement.
“I’m fine,” she assured him again. “I really need to get back to work. I appreciate what you did, though.”
He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until he felt her soft breath on his cheek. He glanced up to her, his eyes darting down to her lips.
“My motives aren’t always so selfless.”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “Whatever your motives are, they were effective.”
He leaned in closer, close enough that barely a breath could pass between their lips. “I’m always effective.”