Every nerve ending stood on edge, knowing he’d slipped something into my drink.
It seemed as though the roofie-rapist had found his way into my bar.
Adrenaline filtered its way through my body, sending trembles throughout as I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled my phone out. I quickly opened my contacts and clicked on Noah’s name, trying not to go into a full on fit of rage as I waited for him to answer the phone.
What I wanted to do was walk up to the man, grab him by the hair, and slam his face into the bar over and over…but I knew that was the anger talking. Though it sounded like the best course of action, since my law enforcement bestie wasn’t answering his damn phone.
Ending the call, I slowly walked back toward the bar, never taking my eyes off the back of the guy's head. My heart thundered in my chest—a million things racing through my mind.
Should I send out a text and warn the staff? Call Cain and ask him to handle it? Do I handle it myself?
Every step felt like ten—like I was moving in slow motion.
Redialing Noah, I let a shaky breath move past my lips. I was halfway back to the bar, and Noah still wasn’t answering.
“Hello?” his voice finally reverberated through the speaker.
But it didn’t matter anymore, because Cain had made it to the bar first.
His hand slammed into the guy's neck before wrapping around the collar of his shirt. He ripped him out of his chair, dragging the man behind him as he raced toward the door. Struggling to keep up, the guy practically tripped over his feet as Cain yanked his body mercilessly through the small crowd. When he made it to the door, he tossed the guy out first before following.
Shit.
“He’s here,” I shouted through my cell at Noah. “Get here now!”
Disconnecting the call, I shoved my phone back in my pocket and elbowed my way through the congestion of patrons. Once I reached the door, I threw it open and pushed my way out into the crisp night air.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
My head whipped side to side looking for Cain and the guy, but I came up short. I stilled, listening for the sound of…well, anything really. Voices, footsteps, the potential dragging of a body, but was met with the muffled thumping of the music from inside the bar, and the stillness of the night air.
Quickly, I scanned through the parking lot but saw no movement behind the cars. I decided to check the alleyway to the right of the entrance—if they weren’t there, then I had no idea where Cain could have taken him. It wasn’t like they vanished into thin air, so the alley was my best bet.
My heels clicked against the asphalt as I power walked. Pieces of loose gravel crunched beneath each step, completely diminishing my attempts at being quiet. Not that it mattered. Cain knew me well enough to know I’d be following.
When I rounded the corner, I was relieved to find them.
Okay, relieved was a weird emotion for the situation, but it’s what I felt.
They were halfway down the alley, partially concealed by the bar’s dumpster. Cain had his forearm pressed against the man’s neck, his other hand pushing against his closed fist, applying pressure.
A lot of pressure, if roofie-guy’s beet-red face was any indication.
Cain was eerily calm and his mouth was moving, like he was speaking in a low tone to the man he was choking the shit out of.
The sound of my footsteps drew both of their attention, their eyes both shifting in my direction as I made my way further into the alley. My gaze connected with Cain’s, and I was a little startled by the darkness that reflected in them.
It was no secret the Sinners got their hands dirty from time to time, but seeing it in the flesh was different.
My eyes were glued to Cain’s hands—the tightness of his fists, the pain I knew he was causing as he used his force to cause pain. The same hands that not so long ago were drawing pleasure from my body were now being used to distribute the exact opposite.
“Walk away, Rose. You don’t want to witness what I’m about to do to this pathetic piece of shit.” Cain’s voice was sinister. Full of authoritative command. But he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was staring down at the man in his hold with a look just as menacing as his tone.
A slight hesitation prickled my body, but I wasn’t about to listen to it or him. Instead, I waved my hand around airily, as though he’d just told me I wasn’t needed for help in the kitchen or something.
The roofie-guy may have been a literal walking nightmare, but Cain was stealing my fun. It wasmydrink this jackass roofied, inmybar. And I wanted to be the one to teach him a lesson until the cops showed up.
Which, speaking of, weren’t they supposed to be circling the perimeter? Where the hell were they?
