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Page 3 of Craving Consequences

“She fucking asked for it!”

That only adds gasoline on the inferno that is Van.

“You piece of shit!”

I barely manage to pull him back when he lunges again.

“We need to check on Everly,” I tell him, knowing that is the only thing that will calm him. “She could be hurt.”

Body practically vibrating, Van growls deep in his throat. A sound I know means it’s over — if the kid is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

He’s not.

“Maybe put a fucking leash on her.”

Van’s entire weight slams into mine, nearly taking me down when I put myself between him and the idiot still sprawled across the filthy floor.

“Enough! Fuck him. Let’s go.”

Gray eyes nearly black, Van bares his teeth but shoves away from me to turn to Everly.

As if the very sight of her has the power to stifle the fire, every drop of his fury vanishes. His monstrous frame shrinks, softens as he goes to her.

“You okay, baby?”

Everly slurs something about fish that I don’t hear.

With Van distracted, I get my first real look at her, at her barely clad figure stuffed in a tiny, red dress that covers nothing and the ice picks strapped to her tiny feet. Her hair is a riot of soft curls around a face painted to make a man sin.

Smokey hazel eyes peer up into Van’s face with all the trust in the world when he drags her into his arms and lifts her up against his chest. Her head immediately finds the curve of his neck like they’d done this a million times before.

I’m jealous. I’ve never been jealous of Van for anything, but watching Everly loop her arms around his shoulders and nestle in, suddenlyIwant to punch something.

Instead, I dig into my back pocket, pull out my wallet and drop several bills on the bar to cover our drinks and the damages.

“Sorry about that, Tommy,” I tell the barkeep. “Let me know if that’s not enough.”

Tommy waves the offer away with a shake of his head. “I was about to step in myself if Van hadn’t.”

I offer him a humorless grin and start to thank him when a scuffle has me glancing back.

Van and Everly are already out of sight, but the kid has untangled himself from the ground and looks on the verge of doing something stupid.

“Don’t,” I tell him firmly. “That man did two tours in Afghanistan. You’ll embarrass yourself and I won’t stop him again.”

He considers my words. I can see the drunk hamster struggling to grasp the reasoning. Finally, he dusts off his jeans and mutters, “Whatever,” and disappears into the crowd.

Waving at Tommy, I leave to find my friend and the bundle of chaos.

I find them in the narrow alcove leading to what used to be the coat check but was reverted to a storage area. I know he should have taken her straight to the truck. This is no place for someone like her. Not dressed like that. Not so drunk that Van has to practically hold her up by the waist to keep her from crumpling to the ground.

But in my mind, in the far corner where I’m not tasting the bitter poison of envy, I know he’s holding her too close. I know the soft longing in his eyes isn’t appropriate. Still, I say nothing as I reach them.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, big, bloody hands moving lightly over the naked curve of her spine.

The dress is a length of sheet. A practically transparent strip of red that plunges down both ends in sharp V cuts. Theback is open nearly to the crack of her ass. The front surges between her firm, full breasts. And the length? She definitely can’t pick anything up without showing the world everything.

It’s afuck medress. Plain and simple. It’s the kind of dress that comes with a message. I’m not one to tell a woman what to wear — hell, I’m not mad about seeing Everly in it at all — but I have to wonder the motives behind it because Bron would not be okay with it.


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