“I left you in one piece,” Macon snaps back, though his voice is low and strong. “Given what I wanted to do, you ought to thank me.”

“I will end you,” George hisses, spittle wetting his lip. “Tell everyone who you really are. Worthless, spineless little shit—”

“No!” The word erupts from my mouth like a shot. Somehow I’ve spoken without planning to, rounding past Macon and stepping into George Saint’s space without realizing it. But I’m not backing down. Rage colors my world a blinding white, hazing the edges of everything. It surges through my blood like quicklime. “You will do no such thing. You will leave this place and crawl back under the rock from which you came.”

I’m in a fine fix now, my body shaking with rage. “This man is the best of you, the only good you will ever know. And you will have to go through me to ever touch him again.”

The din of the crowd returns full force when I, at last, run out of steam. But I am no less enraged—merely resting. And then Macon moves, just as his father seems to step forward. It all happens at once, a sort of strange, ugly dance in which Macon wraps an arm around my waist, tucking me to his side as he also straightens, his stance so menacing that George Saint falters.

“Enough.” One word from Macon’s mouth. A threat and a promise. Whatever George does will be met with the impenetrable wall of Macon’s resolve.

His father’s cold eyes land on me. “I recognize you now. The dumpy Baker girl with the big mouth. Used to fight like a cat with my boy. Knew he wanted to hate fuck you then. Told him not to bother since he had the beautiful slutty sister begging for it.” He sneers at his son. “Should have known you wouldn’t listen. Slumming now, boy? Must be a new chunky kink.”

Macon’s grip on me tightens even as my breath catches painfully in my throat. He clearly feels my reaction, and his hand spreads wide and warm over my side.

“Shut your ugly mouth while you still can,” he says to his father. Against my cheek, his heart beats swift and light into his ribs. Tremors go through his middle, but he hides it well. “If you think for one second you’re safe because we’re in public, you’re wrong.”

So far, no one seems to have noticed our argument. People are laughing and chatting in groups. But that could easily end with one good hit.

“I think,” George Saint says, leaning in, “that you’d snivel and plead just like you did as a snot-nosed boy.”