“Would love to get to know you a little better, Sara, but I’ve got to steal your man for a few minutes. You’re free to drink anything your heart desires. It’s on the house.”

“They’re piranhas out there,” Jaxon butt in. “They’ll be all over her in seconds.”

“Damien will look out for her, and then I’ll sort them out after we’re done.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth and turned away, steering me back out of the room with the wrestler man following. Just outside the door, he looked around the bar and then back down at me.

“I won’t be long. Damien will stand by in case anymore assholes try to touch you. If anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know immediately, okay?” When I nodded at his words, he leaned in and seared my mouth with his. It wasn’t a soft kiss, though. It was rough and we were borderline making out before he pulled away. With a glance around the bar again, he gave Damien a nod and then disappeared back into the office.

I stood awkwardly beside the door and crossed my arms, avoiding the escalating amount of stares. The place had gone still when he’d kissed me, and only now when the talking had finally picked up did I realize that. Trying to distract myself from making eye contact with any more men, I looked at the Damien instead. He was leaning against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, scanning the bar with a bored look on his face.

Decidedly wanting to speak to someone Jaxon knew well, I asked an obvious question. “So you’re Damien?”

His dark eyes met mine and he nodded. “Yeah.”

“How long have you known Jaxon?”

“Over three years now.” I waited for him to elaborate, maybe tell me how they met or at least ask me how long I had known him, but he didn’t do any of that. He said nothing else and introverted again, looking back at the crowd.

A few minutes passed by, and when I heard whoops of excitement, I finally looked up from my shoes and at the commotion. There were two women standing on the red wood bar counter dancing provocatively to the heavy rock music. Wearing tiny skirts, skin tight tops and high heels, they grinded against each other to the beat with giant smiles on their faces.

The men whistled and fought each other to get a look under their skirts. Hands ran up and down the women’s legs as they slowly tore off their tops. I tore my eyes away, and caught Damien’s stare. He had a smirk on his face, and I think it was because he saw how uncomfortable I was in what was clearly a place that was out of my element.

“What?” I snapped when he wouldn’t look away.

He shrugged casually, still smirking. “Just surprised.”

“Why are you surprised?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I want to know.” I sounded pushy and rude, but if he was going to bring something up, he might as well finish it.

“Didn’t figure you for Jaxon’s type.”

“What do you mean? What’s his type?”

He looked me up and down, inspecting every bit of me. I couldn’t help but blush at the attention. “You’re modest, and reserved. You go red the second a man looks at you, and you can’t even look at a girl undress without feeling uncomfortable. Even this conversation is making you fidget.”

He was embarrassingly right, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

“Jaxon’s always been with confident, loose chicks – the kind that hold no reservations to promiscuity.”

I scowled. “So what are you saying? I’m not good enough or something?”

He chuckled and moved over to me, until he was standing by my side. “No, Sara,” he muttered, shining his dark eyes down at me. “What I’m saying is he’s not good enough for you. He deserves the scum he roots around with. Just be mindful of him.”

“You don’t know anything about me. I could be just as bad.”

“I highly doubt that. I’ve kept an eye on you the last couple days. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

My heart stopped as I studied his painfully serious face. The smirk was long gone. “Kept an eye on me? Why?”

“Because Jaxon said so.” Suddenly ending the conversation, he walked over to where he’d stood before and turned his eyes back at the half-naked women who were now pouring all kinds of alcohol on their bodies and having a taste. Though his eyes were on them, it was obvious he wasn’t watching them – the disinterest in his face was palpable. He was lost in his own thoughts.

And so was I.

*****

We’d been waiting a very long time. I had no desire to drink any alcohol or mingle with drunks. Damien had left at one point and returned with a chair for me to sit on. I was grateful and thanked him, but he didn’t say a word. I guess conversations with the guy were far and few.

I stewed on his words and I couldn’t ignore the pain they ignited in me. He deserves the scum he roots around with. That line wouldn’t shut the hell up in my head, and you’d be surprised just how many ways one could dissect it.

I was still in the middle of dissection number fifty two when, from my peripheral, Damien stood straighter and took a step forward. He was concentrating on something from across the bar. His face darkened, and he ran a hand through his buzz before crossing his arms and moving to stand directly in front of the door.

I watched as a familiar looking man made his way toward us. He was tall and muscularly broad, with black shaggy hair and dark eyes. He had a light beard and silver chains around his neck. I zoned in on his black leather patch vest that had the initials VP on the front. He paused mid-step and turned around to look at something. When I saw the back of his jacket, I inhaled sharply. The words “Black-backed Jackals” in thick white letters were etched into the leather in thick, bold letters.

A Jackal. The Vice President no less.

Damien’s discomfort was apparent, and I wondered if there was a level of danger here. Then again, how could there be? He was alone and in the centre of a whole other gang entirely, one I was still in the middle of questioning. My instincts were screaming, there is something very wrong here!

He stopped in front of us, and I could smell a cigarettes and pleasant cologne from where he stood a few feet away from me. The smell was so familiar that a nostalgic chill ran down my spine.

“How’s it going, Day?” he asked Damien.

“It’s going,” Damien responded tightly.