Page 11 of Ruger's Rage
"How about showing some respect?" Tildie says, her voice steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she pours.
"Respect?" He laughs, the sound grating. "You've got it backwards, sweetheart. A body like that, you should be thankingusfor the attention."
I'm already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth.
Three years of being President means I'm an expert at handling shit before it escalates.
"She asked nicely," I say, appearing beside him. "I won't."
The bastard turns, his drunk eyes trying to focus on me.
Recognition doesn't dawn until he spots my cut.
To his credit, his friends go quiet, but this prick's too fucked up to think straight.
"Saint's Outlaws," he scoffs. "Think your patches scare everyone?"
Wrong answer.
I grab his wrist before he reaches for Tildie. "Apologize to the lady."
"Fuck—"
I squeeze harder, bones grinding together until he yelps. "Try again."
"Let... go... you bastard!"
Without releasing him, I lean in close. "Here's how this works. You apologize to the lady, pay your tab, and walk your drunk ass out of here. You come back, you speak to her with respect. You even think about putting your hands on her, and I'll rip your arm off and beat you with it."
His face turns interesting shades of red and purple. "S-sorry," he gasps out.
"Not to me," I growl, nodding toward Tildie.
"Sorry, ma'am," he wheezes.
I release him, and he stumbles backward.
His friends are already pulling out cash, clearly more sober than their buddy, then again, maybe it was this enlightening experience that sobered them up.
"Evening, gentlemen," I say coldly, watching them gather their drunk friend and make for the exit.
The bar has gone quiet, everyone pretending they weren't watching.
I turn to Tildie, who's gripping the bar with white knuckles.
"You okay?" I ask, softening my voice.
She nods, but I see her hands shaking. "Thank you."
"No one—" I catch myself before saying 'touches what's mine.'
Three years of therapy courtesy of Ellie still hasn't completely fixed my possessive streak. "No one gets to disrespect you like that."
Her amber eyes meet mine, something shifting in their depths.
I see gratitude, yes, but also fear. Like she's trying to figure out what I want in return.
"I had it under control," she says softly.
