She didn’t belong here. She stood out against the dingy bar like a baby in a wrestling ring. What did she hope to accomplish in The Rusty Nail?
Ike Granson, a petty thief and dealer, moved close to her, his voice too low to carry as he slid onto the stool beside hers. She tucked jaw-length black hair behind one ear, cocked her head to look at him and smiled God, what a smile, Angel thought, and let his gaze discreetly follow her as she joined the man on the dance floor. The haze of smoke hovered around them like a filthy curtain. Ike bent, his oily hair spilling over his face as he whispered in her ear, his hand groping her spine like a lazy masseur. She stiffened and stopped, then she reared back and made a fist. Great.
Hail Mary, Calli thought. She was in trouble now. In over her head. Way in. She just had to go hunting for excitement, and as luck would have it, she’d picked the one club that promised a little too much local color. She’d never done anything quite this adventurous in her life and now that her first vacation in three years was swiftly going downhill, she wanted to just get away without getting her throat cut, or raped, or whatever. And not let anyone know how scared and stupid she felt. As casually as she could, she unfurled her fist.
“Ah, no thanks, pal. I’m not looking for that kind of company.” Not yours at least. Ike smelled of pot, B.O. and booze. But he looked even worse. Greasy. And she’d had enough of being pawed. Stepping out from under his groping, she turned and walked back toward her seat at the bar. He caught her wrist, yanking her into his arms. Her hair spread over her face and he stroked it back. Yuk. Even his nails were dirty.
“You’re out here showin’ it off, slut, and I want some.”
He pulled her flat against his bony body, arms tight around her, his hot, foul breath in her face and whispered what he really wanted to do with her.
Appalled, Calli asked, “Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”
He scowled. “Don’t be talkin’ ’bout my mother ”
Careful, a voice in her head warned, sounding too much like Sister Mary Elizabeth. “Look. What part of no don’t you understand, so I can explain it?”
His face glowed with anger, his hold tightened. Uh-oh. Her mouth was going to get her into bigger trouble, she thought as she tried to peel his hands from her waist. She couldn’t get a good grip Fear stung up her spine. She kept telling herself she could get out of this. She could.
“I ain’t never seen a woman turn you down that quick, Ike.”
Ike’s gaze slashed to an obese man lingering close. “And you ain’t gonna.”
His one hand drove lower, cupping her buttocks, and Calli’s stomach pitched.
“I got a car out back. I can do ya quick.”
She struggled. “Your charm amazes me. Ike, is it?” He grew ruder, and since he wasn’t getting the message, she smacked his cheek, hard. His hiss of pain sounded loud in the suddenly quiet bar. She could feel people staring, yet he didn’t release her. Instead, he smiled. Good Lord, he liked it, she realized, shoving at his chest. When that didn’t dislodge him, she resorted to the only thing possible in this situation. She ground her four-inch stiletto heel down on his instep. He howled like a coyote and let her go.
So much for five years of karate, Calli thought, tugging at the hem of her jacket. “Now do you understand no?”
But his friend, the rudest-looking man in the free world, decided it was his turn and pushed his huge self off the bar stool. The motion spread open his leather vest and Calli was surprised to see that his nipples were tattooed like eyeballs.
“Good God. Did that hurt?” she asked, wide-eyed, then composed herself. “Of course it did ” She met his muddy gaze. “It’s not very attractive, you know.”
He had arms like ham shanks and she should shut up, she knew. Ike was still soothing his foot, his eyes threatening retaliation, and Calli decided that an excellent time to leave was five minutes ago.
“I, ah, I’ve got to go,” she said in a rush, easing back toward the door with tiny steps. “Ah—thanks for the dance,” she said, peering around the fat man at Ike. The sisters of St. Andrew’s Orphanage had insisted that saying please and thank you would always get one further than one thought. The good sisters needed a reality check, she decided.
“You’re not leavin’, little girl,” he threatened, advancing on her. Calli’s wide gaze shot between the two men. She instantly weighed her options, and a knee to the groin in the hope that his descendants would come out his throat was not one of them. And with his mammoth arms, any victory she could manage would last about two seconds.
“I really must,” she said to his beefy chest, and hated the tremor in her voice. Hated the fear beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach. When he raised his hand to grab or strike her, Calli back-stepped faster and right into an unyielding body.
Just as quickly, a palm closed heavily over her left shoulder. Good God, she was surrounded. The fat man stopped, mid-grasp. Calli struggled under her captor’s grasp, but she couldn’t move, as if the hand was pushing her down into the concrete floor. I’m toast. She obeyed the silent command to be still, suppressing the fear singing through her body as the fat man’s gaze shot to somewhere behind her.
High behind her.
And the angry flush in his face drained white.
“Leave her alone, Tiny.” The voice was whiskey-rough and low. Undeniably sexy.
“She had it comin’, Angel.”
There was a stretch of silence before The Voice said, “Try again.”
The unspoken threat hung in the dirty air.
Tiny’s lips thinned, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“Step away from her.”
Tiny obeyed, moving back a bit.
Very carefully, Calli turned her head and stared straight at a throat ringed by the collar of a dark T-shirt. She let her gaze climb, up the stubbled jaw and past the most incredible lips to a pair of frosty, mint-green eyes. He has the longest lashes, she thought absently. And a pierced ear. She wet her lips. This was Angel? He looked anything but. Tanned skin. Dark hair. Too pale eyes. He was danger. Real danger. There wasn’t a sound in the bar except the jukebox and Calli shivered. Angel kept his gaze on Tiny, even though she knew he was aware of her stare. Calli couldn’t remember seeing him when she came in. Hard to believe she’d missed him. But she didn’t need rescuing.
“Back off, Angel.”
His gaze slid to hers and Calli felt a jolt of primal sexuality shoot down her body to her pumps. He arched a brow, sinister, like a wing lifting for flight. “You want to go with him?”
God, that voice. She glanced at Tiny. “No.”
“Then I suggest you shut up.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You ain’t takin’ her,” Tiny found the nerve to say.
