Be My Hero(14)

"I know, hasn't it?" Reese answered with the same fake pleasantry before  she sneered. "My hand's stopped ringing from the last time I  bitch-slapped the shit out of you."

"Ohh!" Ten cried, smacking his hand on his knee and hooting. "Burn."

Mrs. Garrison narrowed her eyes. "You need to release him, dear. He doesn't belong here."

Everything went incredibly tense then. Mason and Reese ganged up on the  rapist, trying to get to her to leave, telling her they didn't believe a  word she said. And Mrs. Garrison just oozed evil as she ripped open her  coat, revealing a swollen stomach.

"If I'm not pregnant, then how do you explain this?"

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes and waved my hand at her. "That's the fakest pregnant belly I've ever seen."

When Mrs. Garrison swiveled my way with a scowl, I slid off my stool and  pooched out my little girl. "This is the real deal, honey. So why don't  you stop picking on Mason and my cousin Reese, crawl back home to  Florida, and find someone new to harass. In fact, look up Madeline and  Shaw Mercer why don't you? They actually deserve your brand of  attention."

Ooh, I would just love to watch the two rapists go head to head. Might  actually be a bit of a challenge for my father to chew Mrs. Garrison up  and spit her out. Might take him a whole hour to destroy her.

She narrowed her eyes. "I should've guessed you were Reese's snooty  little Mercer cousin. Eva, isn't it? The one who tried to trap Alec  Worthington into marriage by getting herself knocked up-"

"Okay, that's enough," Reese snapped, and I'm grateful she intervened  because just hearing Alec's name made me tense and shut down. But what  the hell? Did everyone back home think I got pregnant on purpose to trap  him into marriage? Eww. No way on God's green earth had I wanted to  settle down with an egotistical ass like Alec Worthington. I wouldn't  let that man back into my life now if he came crawling, begging, and  offering money for me to forgive him.

While my head still swam, wondering what all my old cronies back in  Florida really thought of me now, Reese and Mason and Mrs. Garrison went  'round and 'round some more, until the woman I soon learned was named  Dr. Kavanagh pulled a pregnancy test out of her purse and told Mrs.  Garrison to supply some physical proof.

Once the rapist finally agreed to pee on the stick, there was some  debate over who'd accompany her back to the bathroom to oversee her test  taking. When I tried to chime in and say I'd gladly escort the wicked  witch-so I could be the first to laugh in her face when all her lies  were revealed-Pick whipped out his hand and reached across the bar to  grasp my elbow, halting me.

"I don't think so, Tinker Bell. If Lowe doesn't trust his woman alone  with that broad, then you sure as hell aren't going near her. Not in  your condition."

I blinked at him, startled into silent stupidity. Not in my condition?

Really, just who did this guy think he was to act so proprietary of me,  making sure I had clean food and stayed away from evil rapists? No one  was ever that nice for no reason at all. Made me wonder what his  ulterior motive was. I jerked my elbow from his grip, glaring him down.

Men equaled bastards, and he was most definitely male.

Blinking rapidly, his gaze zipped up to mine. He was obviously startled by my anger. Maybe even a little hurt by it.

I wavered, silently debating whether I actually had the right to be mad  at him. Let's see. He'd grabbed me, twice now, and had made decisions  for me as if he owned me. Humph, owned me?

No one owned Eva Mercer, so I was going to be ticked at him for trying.

The bastard.

The problem was I wasn't all that bothered. I couldn't think of him as a  creeper because everything he'd done had been attentive and protective.  Even his staring had been more curious and seeking, as if he were  trying to recognize me from somewhere, or he wanted me to recognize him.  It certainly hadn't been creepy and leering as if he were visually  undressing me. Not that anyone would want to visually undress a pregnant  chick with water retention while she was wearing Tinker Bell pajamas.  But there were all kinds of weirdos out there. This I knew well.         

     



 

Frankly, I didn't want to be on anyone's radar as much as I seemed to be  on his, so I forced my gaze away from him, even though I was acutely  aware of every move he made. Of every breath he took. Of every-God, my  reaction to him was so powerful it was irritating.

Only seconds after Mrs. Garrison followed Dr. Kavanagh and who I  realized was Gamble down the hall toward the restrooms, she came  storming back into the bar area. Without looking at anyone or saying  anything, she marched toward the exit and left.

"Oh, going so soon?" Reese taunted after her. "I'm so sorry to hear you're not pregnant after all, you fucking lying bitch!"

The front door slammed, and the nameless bartender hurried after her to lock the doors.

Mason and Reese hugged, murmuring to each other. Relieved this round  with the rapist was over, I rubbed my belly, wondering why some people  perjured themselves the way Mrs. Garrison just had. I mean, I knew why  I'd always lied and pretended and said things I didn't even mean. I had  dirty, dark secrets I didn't want anyone to discover. But this . . .

I began to wonder what kind of childhood Mrs. Garrison must've gone  through to turn her into such a loose screw. Then I stopped myself  because I didn't want to know what made her a raping sociopath. As long  as Reese and Mason were done with her for good, I never wanted to think  about her again.

Reese dashed down the back hall to thank Dr. Kavanagh for helping her  get rid of Mrs. Garrison. When Mason, still looking shaken, slumped  forward to cradle his head in his hands and rest his elbows on the bar  top, I opened my mouth to ask if he was okay. Then I decided against it,  reminding myself we weren't friends.

"So, how far along are you?"

At Pick's question, I jumped. He remained on the other side of the bar, watching me intently.

"Look." I drew in a breath. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but you need to stop."

He opened his mouth, then shut it before shaking his head. "I need to stop what exactly?"

"I just said. I don't know. But cut it out, okay?"

Instead of turning pissy, he grinned. "So, you don't know what I'm doing  that's obviously pissing you off, and I certainly don't have a clue,  but I definitely need to cut it out?"

I scowled because when he said it like that, he made me sound like a  complete idiot. "Okay, fine. You've touched me. Twice now. That's just  not cool. Then you told me what I couldn't eat and where I couldn't go  like you freaking owned me. Which you definitely don't. And now you're  trying to make polite conversation as if we're friends. I don't know  you. I've never met you before in my life. We are not friends."

"E.," Mason said, his voice sounding like a dog owner who was commanding  his snarling pet to heel. "Leave him alone. He's always protective of  women. He's fine."

Oh. I shrank back, guilt seeping into every pore. God, there I went  again, automatically assuming every man alive was a bastard. I really  needed to cut that out and start giving people the benefit of the doubt.  Bad Eva.

"Sorry," I mumbled, ducking my chin and tucking a piece of hair behind  my ear because this apologizing business was still so new to me. "I  guess if Mason says you're fine, you're fine."

Brows furrowed, Pick opened his mouth to answer me, but Mason snorted  out a laugh. "Wow. I cannot believe I just heard those words come out of  Eva Mercer's mouth."

I turned to tell him I was at least trying to change, but I got a little  distracted by how pale and upset he looked, still slumped against the  bar and holding his head. "Are you okay?" I reached for his elbow and  drew him to a barstool. "You look like you're going to pass out."

"Yeah, Lowe." Pick grabbed a glass from the back of the bar and filled  it with water. "Why don't you sit down?" He slid the water in front of  Mason. "Here. Drink something."

Mason sat, but he didn't move to take the glass, so I picked it up and  tried to help him . . . to which he sliced me an annoyed glare.  "Really?" He snagged the cup from my hand and drank on his own.

Confused by his irritation, I turned to Pick who winced and shook his  head. "Bad move, Tink. Don't emasculate the poor guy by helping him  drink."

I lifted my hands. "I was just trying to help."

Amusement flittered across his face. He leaned across the bar to talk in  a quieter tone. "I know that. And you know that. But Lowe . . . " He  shook his head. "He didn't know that."

He was so close I could make out a small chip in the silver paint on his  eyebrow ring. I studied it a moment before my attention wandered to  other features. But when I got to the deep, chocolate brown of his eyes,  I was surprised to learn how much they were studying me in return.