“You fucking bitch,” Ronnie snarled, holding me against the wall by my neck.

“The second time I’ve been called that in two minutes,” I muttered. “It must be some kind of record.”

“You ruined my fucking life,” he hissed, leaning right into my face. His breath smelled like booze. Or maybe it was mine. Regardless, his eyes were bloodshot, he was sweaty and needed a shower badly.

He was also mad. Mad enough to grab me by the throat in a busy bar.

Unfortunately, the hall that ran toward the restrooms was not busy. Where was a long bathroom line when you needed it?

Maybe it was because I was drunk or because I was numb to everything at that point, but I wasn’t afraid. What could the guy do to me?

Ronnie slammed my head so it crashed painfully against the wall as if to give me an example.

Black spots danced in my vision, and my mouth tasted coppery from my teeth sinking into my tongue.

“Asshole,” I yelled, but my voice was muffled and slurred. Fortunately, the violence shocked me out of the somewhat catatonic state I was in, and suddenly I was very mad. Furious.

There he was, a man who was touching me, hurting me for no other reason than because he was weak. Because he couldn’t look in the fucking mirror and see he was the one ruining his own life.

My knee found its way between his legs, leaving me feeling extremely satisfied by the way he cried out in pain.

I never had taken that self-defense class, but a knee in the gonads was always a good go-to.

I didn’t get the chance to unleash any more of my fury toward someone who really deserved it since a blur of movement passed by, then Ronnie was on the floor.

Rowan was above him, slamming his fist into Ronnie’s face.

I stared at him in shock for a moment, then I waited for him to stop with the punching since it was clear he’d done the hero thing and saved me… yet again.

Eventually, it became clear that he was not in hero mode.

The sound of his fists crashing against flesh and bone was horrifying.

“Rowan,” I whispered.

Those wet, crunching sounds kept coming.

“Rowan,” I called out, louder this time.

He kept punching.

“Rowan!” I screamed.

He stopped suddenly, his fist midair. Blood dripped off it.

Rowan stayed stock still, like he was frozen in time. The sounds of the bar seemed so far away.

He got up slowly and came toward me. I might’ve flinched if I wasn’t still drunk, if I wasn’t so jaded and numb. His eyes were wild and dead at the same time. He didn’t look like the man who had treated me so delicately and kindly since we met.

This was a killer.

Rowan’s eyes circled, landing on my neck, which was aching and hot. I guessed it was red too because his gaze flared in fury.