All Chained Up (17 page)

What was she supposed to say
? I came here to see you?
That only smacked of desperation.

She shrugged. “Just felt like going out.” She nodded toward the stage. “Great band.”

He stared at her dubiously and she waited for him to call bullshit. He didn't. Instead, he gestured to the bottles, all businesslike. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

She nodded dumbly.

“How about you have a drink with us?” Shelley cajoled. Trust her to cut right to the flirting. It was as natural as breathing to her.

“Can't. I'm working.”

Shelley pouted, jutting out her bottom lip prettily and Briar felt a stab of jealousy as Knox studied her neighbor. Did Knox like what he saw? What wasn't to like? Shelley was sultry and sexy. Two kids hadn't altered her tiny size-­two figure.

Shelley cocked her head, coyly twirling her hair. “Aw, you don't get a break?”

Briar sucked in a breath, stifling the urge to face punch
her
.

“It's pretty busy tonight and we're short-­staffed.”

Shelley brought her beer to her lips, talking against the bottle's mouth as she pouted, “Oh, fine. But we're going to need more beer soon, Knox. I hope you'll bring them to us.”

“Sure. Just signal me.” Without a glance for Briar, he turned and headed back to his spot behind the bar.

“Hmm, now that's a view.” Shelley cocked her head, admiring his ass as he walked away.

“Did you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt like that!”

“He was about to leave. I was trying to keep him here longer. “

“Yeah, by hitting on him.”

She shrugged. “Well, you weren't doing anything. Besides. You've been insisting that you don't want to fuck him again . . .”

“That doesn't mean it's okay for you to,” she shot back.

“Fine. Don't be mad at me. You know I love you. I just got carried away. He's so yummy.”

“Fine.” Briar supposed she could forgive her. She better than anyone understood Knox's impact on the female's senses, after all.

Shelley hopped down off the stool. “Let's go dance.”

“What? I don't dance—­”

“You need to loosen up. C'mon. We're here. Why not?”

They were here. And she had just told Knox they were here to have fun and listen to the band.
Not
stalk his ass. What was the harm in dancing with her friend?

“Okay.” Hopping down from her stool, she tipped her beer and finished it in a long gulp, taking it as fortification. Slamming the bottle down on the table, she met Shelley's gaze. “Let's do this.”

 

NINETEEN

B
RIAR—
­HIS
BRIAR—­WAS WORKING
it on the dance floor like it was something she did every Saturday night at Roscoe's.
Shit
. Not his. Not
his
Briar.

She wasn't one of the bar trolls who skulked in here night after night, seeking validation through booze and strange men pawing at her. She was the type who preferred a book or television to a wild night out. Knox liked that about her. He liked that every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, she looked faintly surprised. And he fucking loved the sounds she made as she pulled him closer, urging him to do things to her he was positive no man had ever done before.

He wanted to be the only man to touch her. It was total caveman of him, but that's what he was. A fucking caveman that reveled in rocking her staid little world and making her fly apart. She made him want to pound his chest.
Christ
. Thinking about her that way was making him rock hard. Thankfully he was standing behind the bar where no one would notice.

His gaze tracked her. For being not much of a party girl, she was doing a good job faking it. He glared across the distance, straining and twisting his body as he worked the bar, determined to keep her in his sights. She held her hands up in the air and swayed those hips he remembered holding in his hands, anchoring her as he slid home inside.

He lifted on the balls of his feet slightly, following her stripper moves between bodies and over the tops of ­people's heads.
Where the hell did she learn to dance like that
?

Her hair was wild and free, shining as bright as a copper penny in the dim light as she danced. He suspected she was already halfway drunk. She hadn't imbibed much since she got here, but from the glassiness in her eyes, he would stake money that she'd had a few drinks before showing up here. Maybe she had needed the liquid courage to face him again.

Over the past week he'd felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that she wasn't pregnant, and that was just all kinds of messed up. He didn't wish her pregnant. That wasn't right. Although as wrong as it was, he understood the disappointment. If she was pregnant, he would be a part of her life. He'd still be seeing her. What was to keep them from sleeping together more? All the time even? He could keep showing up at her apartment. Kissing her, having her, waking up tangled in her hair.

Unhealthy thinking all around and great motivation to give her a wide berth. Which he had been doing successfully. Until tonight. Until she showed up here.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. She never wore her hair down like that. The only time was when he pulled it loose so he could fist his hands in it as he fucked her. It felt like she was showing off his secret to the world.
His
. There was that word again.

He poured Blue a fifth of whiskey, still keeping a careful eye on her as a pair of losers closed in on Briar and her friend like fresh meat thrown to the wolves.

Annoyance burned hot though him.
Annoyance?
Hell, he was pissed. Just like that first time he saw her at the prison and he thought she didn't belong. It was the same sensation but only worse. Now he
knew
her. He felt proprietary. Caveman and all that shit. She didn't belong at the prison and she sure as hell didn't belong here. She was as clueless now as she had been then. His chest tightened with a rumbling growl.

“Hey, you're spilling good whiskey,” Blue complained, and Knox quickly pulled back the bottle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Blue followed his gaze to Briar and Shelley on the dance floor. “Which one?”

Knox frowned. “Which one what?”

“Which one you fucking?”

“Neither,” he snapped, not even bothering to feel offended by the biker's crudeness. The guy had served time with him. He'd heard worse out of him.

His aunt pushed up to the bar with more drink orders. “She's the one with all that curly hair.” Apparently she had overhead Blue.

He glared at her. As much as he loved the woman, she was a busybody that needed to mind her own business.

“Ah. You've got no stake in her, then?” Blue winked knowingly at his aunt.

“That's right.” Knox nodded and wiped down the bar where he'd spilled the whiskey.

“Then you don't mind that guy all over her?”

His gaze swung back to the dance floor to watch a long-­haired guy in a Metallica T-­shirt bump and grind behind Briar.

Hell. No.

“Aunt Alice?” he said, not looking away from the dance floor.

“Yes?”

“Tell Jack I'm taking a break.”

“Sure thing, Knox.”

He walked around the bar, ignoring Blue's and Aunt Alice's snickers. He didn't care if he looked like a jackass. He wasn't going to let any man put his hands on Briar. Not in front of him. It was one thing to let her go so that she could continue her life without him. A life that would naturally include her seeing other men. Touching them. Letting them touch her. Knox had just never counted on watching that unfold in front of him. And he didn't have to watch it. Not in his bar.

He cut a hard line across the room, stopping in front of her with a thud of his boots. She appeared to be enjoying herself. Dancing as the greasy-­haired bastard grabbed onto her hips and pushed himself against her ass.

“Briar.” She looked up at his hard bite of her name. “I think it's time for you to leave.”

The color bled from her cheeks as she took in his face. She stopped dancing.

Shelley crowded close, glaring at him. “You're kicking us out? Why?”

The guy that had been grinding behind Briar stepped forward, his chest puffing out belligerently. He threw an arm around Briar's shoulders. “Yeah, why do they have to go? We're not causing any trouble.”

Knox stared at him coldly. “Trouble is about to happen to you if you don't get your arm off her.”

Greasy Hair looked down at Briar. “This your man?”

Color flooded her face and she paused a moment before shaking her head swiftly.

For some reason this only made him angrier. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“All right, then.” Greasy Hair met his gaze again. “Then fuck off.”

Briar gasped. Even her friend inched back, smart enough to know that shit was about to get real and she needed to get out of the way.

Briar shook her head, her expression twisting with embarrassment. She stepped out from under the guy's arm. “It's fine. I'll just go.”

“No,” her would-­be savior declared, grabbing her arm and tugging her back, farther from Knox. And that was his mistake. Pulling her away from Knox when the only thought pounding through his head was:
mine
.

Knox reached for her. “Let's go, Briar.”

The bastard shoved him in the chest. Hard. “I don't know who the fuck you think you are, chief, but you can't come in here and—­”

Knox cut him off, grabbing his hand and twisting it hard, yanking it in an unnatural angle until a sharp snap cracked the air. The guy screamed. Several of his friends stormed the dance floor, surging toward them. Only when they spotted Knox, they stopped. Unlike Greasy Hair, they recognized him and weren't about to make a move.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled. Knox jerked his chin, ready for them, almost wanting them to come at him. Then he could unleash some of the aggression pumping through him. Somewhere in the far back of his mind he heard his parole officer citing his numerous warnings, one of which was to avoid all altercations.
No fighting, whatsoever.

Only he didn't give a fuck. He wanted to keep twisting the asshole's arm until it broke. He'd break all their arms if he could right now. The punks exchanged glances with one another and backed down. “Knox! Knox! Stop.” Briar was there then, her hands on his chest, her eyes pleading with him.

“I think all you fuckers need to consider what happens next here.” It was Blue's voice snarling over the air. Several of Blue's friends flanked him as he stared down Greasy Hair's punk-­ass crew.

Knox tightened his grip and twisted a little tighter on the guy's wrist. Greasy Hair whimpered. “Shit! You're breaking my arm.”

Knox released the asshole and grabbed Briar's hand. Holding her cool fingers in his grasp, he led her past gawking onlookers.

A voice, a single whisper, wove through the crowd, reaching his ears.
“Yeah, Knox Callaghan . . . murderer . . .”

Grim futility flashed through him, sinking past muscle and tissue, settling deep into his bones. That's right. He was that. He would always be that.

Maybe it was time Briar understood as much. If she hadn't figured it out, he'd make sure she knew now. And then he wouldn't stop her as she walked out the door.

HE LED HER
through the swinging door with a sign above it that read
EMPLOYEES ONLY
. His warm, big hand enveloped hers, helping her stay upright. She practically tripped in her ridiculous heels as he dragged her after him, and she wished she had worn flats instead of letting Shelley convince her to go with these boots.

They passed through a small kitchen with a harried-­looking man washing glasses and into another back room lined with boxes and walls of shelved liquor.

Knox pushed her back against a wall and then dropped his hands from her. He tucked those hands behind him then, sliding them into his back jeans pockets as if he needed to do that to keep from touching her. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Her blood pumped from what had just happened out on the dance floor. Her skin felt feverish. She told herself it was the alcohol and all the dancing, but she couldn't fool herself. It brought to mind that day in the HSU when he had reacted so quickly, with such lethal skill. A viper striking with deadly precision.
God
. She was turned on. She could barely stop her body from leaning in toward him.

“Are you okay?” His gaze scanned her face, searching.

Heat crawled over her cheeks, burning all the way to her ears, and she fell back against the wall with a gulp of a breath.

“I'm fine,” she said, trying to regain her composure . . . and some restraint.

He angled his head, his eyes sharp and glinting in the near dark. “Maybe you've had a little too much to drink.”

“Maybe I have,” she agreed, holding his gaze. “But no worries. I have a designated driver.”

He snorted. “Your designated driver doesn't appear in much better condition than you.”

“Is that why you dragged me back here?” she challenged. “Because you're worried I've been drinking too much?”

He glanced away then, staring somewhere into the darkness before looking back down at her. “What are you doing here, Briar?” He sounded tired, and she was the reason for that. “Why are you . . .” His voice faded, but she understood. She knew what he was asking.

Why was she coming around him?

It was a good question and she didn't know the answer. She couldn't explain why she lost all sense of pride when it came to him. There was only need.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” she whispered, her voice sounding as anguished as she felt over that fact.

His eyes gleamed almost black in the poorly lit room, and then whatever light she saw there suddenly banked itself. A fire snuffed out. He was Callaghan again. Prison inmate. “We can't do this, Briar.”

She nodded jerkily, a stupid lump forming in her throat . . . emotion . . . hurt that she didn't want to feel. “Yeah. Okay.”

She started to move past him, but he stopped her, clasping her shoulder and putting her back against the wall. He locked his jaw, tension feathering along the tight skin, just beneath the scruff that she wanted to stroke.

She shook her head, staring at him helplessly. “You haven't come by my place. Not since—­” She stopped, but he knew what she meant to say. Not since she told him she wasn't pregnant.

His voice cut hard through the stillness of the room. “Is this what you want from me?” He seized her hand and pressed it against his cock. She gasped, feeling him swell against her fingers. She tried to pull free, but he held fast. “Because this is all I've got. All I can give, Briar. Sex. Meaningless fucks.” He pushed her hand harder against him, moving her up and down his erection. “Now tell me to go to hell. Tell me to fuck off.” He paused, his gaze flicking over her face. “Say it.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her too tight chest.

His head dipped, lips a hairbreadth from her mouth. “Say it,” he whispered harshly. “Say you don't want me.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “No.”