Strong Enough(22)

TEN


Jasper

I knew the instant Muse left. There’s a difference in the environment when she’s around. A vibration almost, like her energy stirs the air when she breathes. The presence of another person also slightly changes the acoustics in any given space, absorbing sound, like pictures on a wall. Besides that, I heard the door click shut as she exited, even over the sultry voice of her ex-boyfriend’s new roommate, Megan.

I don’t doubt she stumbled upon my laptop. I left it open for a reason. And I didn’t close my door for a reason, too. She needs to know the situation before we arrive at her hometown. It’s always best to be prepared. Even when it’s uncomfortable.

She won’t go far, so I wait for two hours before I strike out to look for her. I could call her cell. I have her number from her friend Tracey. I doubt she’d answer it, though, wherever she is.

I take the elevator down to the lobby and I glance down the main hall. Only a coffee shop down there. Not a place she’d go when she’s upset, I’m sure, so I push through the glass entry door and step out into the night. There are lights to the left, darkness to the right. I go left. She’s not stupid enough to try the right. Not with a cautious father like hers.

The second building I come to is a tavern. It has a heavy antique-wood door and flickering carriage house lights on either side of it. It looks dark and inviting, the perfect place to hide in plain sight.

I pull open the door and scan the interior. Long oak bar straight ahead, small hallway and bathrooms to the left, gallery of mostly-full tables and chairs to the right.

Even though she’s facing away from me, I spot Muse within seconds. She’s sitting at the bar and her flaming hair, shining like a dark, fiery penny, is a beacon of color in an otherwise bland landscape. As I watch, she throws back her head and laughs, laughs so hard she almost falls off her stool. I twitch, ready to jump forward and catch her, but a youngish blond guy happily steadies her. I clench my teeth when his hand lingers too long at the base of her spine, his fingers dangerously close to the skin visible between her shirt and her pants.

I tune out the muted music and the three-dozen other conversations going on, and I listen closely for the unique sound of Muse’s voice. It’s a little husky and a lot feminine with a southern twang to it. Sweet charm and sexy stripper, all rolled into one.

I take a step closer when I see the blond slide his palm over her back and pull her against his side. Muse, still laughing, slouches into him for a second before pulling away and signaling the bartender.

“Two more shosh, please,” she slurs, tapping two empty glasses on the bar.

I watch blond guy’s hand stray down to her waist, pause and then move to cup her ass. Muse seems not to notice, as that’s when the bartender sets two more shots of something clear down in front of her.

She sips all of one and then starts in on the other one as her brazen cohort scoots his stool closer and leans in to whisper something in her ear. Muse laughs again, falling forward over the bar and resting her forehead against it while she slaps the shiny wood with her free hand.

I bristle as I watch. I don’t make a move until I see Asshole turn his torso toward Muse and reach in with his other hand, presumably aiming for the inside of her thigh. We’ll never know, I suppose.

I’m on him so fast he doesn’t even have time to choke out a single syllable. I jerk him off his stool, slam his head into the edge of the bar, which makes a satisfying crack, and then I haul him up and around to stare into his face. I wind my fingers around his throat.

“I think that’s enough touching for tonight,” I growl.

“What the fu—”

I squeeze my fingers tighter, cutting off his words. He tries to gasp, but can’t.

His face starts to turn red.

“Do I look like the type of man you can question?”

I hear chair legs scratch wood floors as others in the tavern become unsettled. I don’t bother looking. I continue to stare into the bloodshot blue eyes that are starting to understand exactly what I mean. And what kind of man I am.

When he manages to nod and relaxes the fingers that were clawing at my hand, I loosen my grip and shove him aside. He doesn’t bother coming back after me. He just watches me. Warily. Rubbing his throat and holding his tongue. Smart guy.

Slowly, I turn to scan the room. I make eye contact with a few of the men who stood up. I assume they were preparing to come to the rescue of the “victim,” but none of them makes a move. Some of them even resume their seat. I know from experience that when I choose to give people a glimpse of the real me, it changes their mind about a lot of things. I imagine it’s a lot like looking into a black hole and seeing the eyes of a monster staring back at you.