“Jesus, Linds. Stop eye-fucking the shit out of him and put the guy out of his goddamn misery. Every straight guy in here with eyes and a dick watched the little performance you just put on,” Olly comments as he grabs his ringing cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“Oh, please, it was only dancing.”

“Yeah, babe. You. Dancing. You were practically fucking me on the dance floor by the end of the last song. You were trying to make the cop jealous now that you’ve got some liquid courage happening.”

I frown. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I look away in an effort to avoid where this conversation is undoubtedly heading.

“I don’t need to tell you what a bad idea it is, but I think I will anyway.” Olly reaches across the table, placing my hand in his. I sigh. Here it comes. “Lindsey, he’s a cop, and you’re a pretty little criminal. Doing anything with him is not a smart move, let alone screwing his brains out. You know it and so do I. You want to get laid, babe, I’m right here.” Oliver squeezes my hand, grinning confidently like he’s stating the obvious. I refrain from rolling my eyes at his cocky attitude. I know he’s right, and any other time, I’d take him up on his offer, but not tonight. He’s got the wrong colored eyes, too much hair. He’s not him. “I know, Olly. Trust me, I get what you’re saying. He’s gotten under my skin today, is all.” I lower my shoulders removing my hand from his, and circle the rim of my empty glass. “I don’t plan on anything happening with him. I guess the alcohol has turned my brain cells to mush, which means it must be time for some water.” I stand to make my way to the bar when Olly stops me.

“Today was rough. It’s no wonder you’re shaken up and need to let loose. But, Linds, don’t do anything you’ll regret later.” He turns his head in the direction of Mason and Detective Tate before turning back to me. “For his and your sake.”

I open my mouth to respond but am interrupted by Jet’s “Cold Hard Bitch” blaring out of Olly’s cell phone. With my brows raised, arms crossed over each other, my interest now definitely piqued, I wait for Olly to answer.

Snatching it off the table, he glares at the screen, then back at me. “What?” he asks, feigning indifference. “It’s Marissa.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want to deal with her, then don’t answer. We can sort her out tomorrow. Your call.”

Ignoring my suggestion altogether, he picks up the phone and answers, just like I knew he would. After our chat earlier, I became well aware of how much this woman has him tied up in knots. I berate myself for not paying more attention, and not realizing how he felt sooner so I could have pulled him from the job. My mind’s been waging a war with my heart lately. Do I leave it all behind, once and for all? We don’t need the money, or the trouble. It’s the life we’ve always known. I could always justify it, putting my mind at ease. But now, I have no excuses, no reasons, no justification for doing what I do and when I search deep for some underlying reason, I come up blank. There is no excuse good enough to extinguish my sins. Every day, every job, my mind weighs on the idea I am no better than Giuseppe, no better than my stepfather, the whole reason I fell into the Marino clutches to begin with. I don’t want to believe I am anything like either of them, two men I despise but I am. I had hurt innocent people, just not by choice. In the early years within Giuseppe’s world, I was indebted to him. I didn’t know any better. I did everything he asked because I had no choice or power then. I’d also seen so many dead bodies in my life by that time, I was slowly becoming immune to the effect killing another person should have on me. I still steal, hurt and kill, but only those who deserve it. I’ve broken so many laws I’ve lost count.

Grand Larceny.

Aiding and Abetting.

Assault and Battery.

Fraud.

Extortion.

Forgery.

Robbery.

Murder.

I always believed I’m doing it for the right reasons, unlike Jeremy and Giuseppe. I do it to sweep criminals off the streets. But now I’m questioning everything. The guilt of my actions is catching up with me. The line dividing right and wrong is blurring and I can no longer see straight.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there,” Oliver grumbles into the speaker then hangs up.

Bracing both hands on the table, he stands, and shifts out of the booth. “I have to go, Linds. You all right getting home or you want me to walk you?”

“I’ll be fine, Olly. You, be careful with her. I already wound up in one police precinct today. I don’t plan on having to visit another one anytime soon.”

He scoffs, clearly unconcerned. “I’m too smooth to get caught, Linds, and definitely too fucking handsome for a prison get up.” He leans in and pecks me quickly on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone, already nearing the bar’s entry.

“Okay, yeah, bye!” I yell for good measure when he most likely can’t hear me anyway.

My ribs scream in pain reminding me of the day, my head now pounds, the painkillers I’d taken earlier wearing off. Feeling cold and very much alone, I wait for a glass of water from one of the bartenders, who are busy serving other customers. Placing my clutch down on the counter, I lean on it for balance. Wooziness washes over me and misjudging as I go, I nearly fall on my ass. Yep, that’s me, clumsy when sober, twice as bad when drunk.

A hand steadies me at the small of my back and my muscles tense. “Whoa, you all right there, sugar?”

I spin around to acknowledge the person speaking to me. “I’m fine, but thanks.”

A gasp escapes my lips. My heartbeat thrashes in my ears as I lay eyes on one of the bikers from this morning’s shootout. He’s young, early twenties at a guess. He’s so close his words feel like ice on my skin. What does he want? I step back cautiously, ready to defend myself, while anticipating his next move.

“Don’t look so worried. I take it you recognize me. Just know I’m not here to hurt you. Want to have a little talk. Drinks are on me,” he replies softly, contrary to his frightening demeanor.

“Back the fuck off, Ace.”

A very pissed-off Mason appears by my side placing a protective hand on my hip. He pulls me into him, but does so gently. If it were any other time, I’d drop him on his ass for being so possessive. But his Neanderthal move might just work to my advantage right now. My eyes catch Ace’s patch, Misery’s Angels. I shudder, the scar on my thigh searing open like a fresh wound, the pain radiating through me like wildfire. I retract my hand to Mason’s thick thigh and I feel him tense beneath me. Remembering a job I’ll never forget, I can’t recall this man. He must be fairly new. And if he believes I have Mason by my side, I am double the force to be reckoned with.

Ace raises his arms, palms facing out in a surrendering gesture. “Don’t want any trouble, Cole. Just checking on Lindsey here after this morning. Knew she got hurt so Prez wants me to make sure she’s all right.”

The sinful gleam in his eyes as they roam the length of my body has me questioning his motives behind the visit. While I don’t feel remotely at ease around him, I also don’t get the impression he would hurt an innocent woman. Innocent in this case.

“You tell Cannon he touches even one hair on Lindsey Jenkins’ head, he’ll live to regret it.  Got enough dirt on him to lock him up for fucking years, deal or not. You go ahead and remind him of that,” Mason states. “Now, we done here?”

I could cut in and say something, stand my own ground, show them the strong, independent woman I am, who I’ve tried to be my entire life, but I don’t. I give us both this moment that may never happen again. I soak up the feeling of having him protect me in a way no one else ever has and for whatever his reasons, he stands there, publicly threatening an outlaw biker for a woman who’s no more than a stranger.