Taking another deep swig of his beer, he continued. “I bet you were really hot one time.”

That statement stung. Oh yeah, it was like stepping on a pissed-off hornet. It shouldn’t bother me, some random asshole’s opinion, but the sting coursed through me. I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. It had been so long since anyone even commented on it. Probably because people who knew me, who weren’t shocked by the scar, always surrounded me when the makeup faded after a long day.

“Get the fuck out.”

I jumped at the sound of the deep voice growling behind me and turned. Jax stood there, his eyes flashing and jaw tight, set in a hard line. Dumbly, I wondered why he wanted me to leave. I hadn’t done anything, and it wasn’t like he didn’t realize my face was slightly on the disfigured side.

But he wasn’t talking to me.

Of course not.

Duh.

Jax was staring down the guy on the other side of the bar, and then he was moving forward. Slamming one hand down on the bar top, he launched up over the bar, landing nimbly on the other side, inches from the guy.

“Holy crap,” I whispered, eyes wide.

I’d never seen anyone do something like that. Didn’t even know it was possible. Jax hadn’t even hit a bar stool. It was like he propelled himself over the bar all the time. Maybe that’s what he did during downtime, winging himself back and forth over the bar.

Pearl stopped in the middle of the bar floor, staring at Jax, and she didn’t look too surprised, which I found odd. His buddy at the table stood. The rest of the guys at the table were twisted in their seats, faces set, but not with curiosity. More like they were ready to jump to their feet any second.

Jax snatched the bottle out of the guy’s grasp as he slammed a hand in the middle of the guy’s chest, knocking him back several feet.

“Whoa, man, what the hell’s your problem?” White Shirt asked, catching himself.

“I said, get the fuck out of here.” Jax got right up in his face, and him being a good head taller than the other guy, it was pretty impressive. “Right this fucking second, you wannabe fucking gangster.”

“What the fuck? I didn’t do anything wrong.” White Shirt shot back. “Just trying to get a drink.”

“I don’t give two fucks what you were trying to do.” The muscles in his back rippled under his shirt. “All I care about right now is you getting the fuck out of the bar.”

“Man, that’s messed up.” White Shirt Guy cocked his head like he was about to throw down, which by the sound and look of Jax, I was going to say would be a very bad idea. “You can’t just kick me out for that shit.”

And White Shirt Guy pointed right at me.

My stomach tumbled again, and before I realized what I was doing, I’d reached up, pressing my fingers against the slightly raised line on my cheek. I jerked my hand away.