“Breathe in. Breathe out.”
Samuel is next to me where I sit at the bar, his hand on my upper back.
“You’re fine,” he says. “You did good.”
“My lungs feel like they’re on fire.”
“That’s because you just tackled a morbidly obese shithead and brought him to the ground.”
He gestures toward Misha, who James is currently binding with zip ties.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re getting into!” Misha snarls. “You’re goddamn dead for this!”
“Yo, Sam?” James asks, looking up. “Mind tossing me a bar rag?”
“With pleasure.”
Sam reaches over the bar and grabs a rag, throwing it to James, who neatly catches it. Misha’s still spitting curses as James stuffs the rag in his mouth, thankfully muffling him. Misha’s the last to be tied up. The thugs are out cold, their hands bound. They’re not going anywhere.
“James, call the cops when you’re done with the trash,” Samuel says, returning his hand to my upper back.
I manage to lift a shaky hand and rasp, “Panic button. Pushed it.”
Samuel looks at me, concern etched across his face. “Are you serious?”
God, I wish he could just drop everything and wrap me in his arms. But he’s got bigger problems, namely keeping Misha pinned to the floor like the scumbag he is.
“I am. Managed to push it during the insanity.”
He smiles. “Good girl. And you made some killer moves, too. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
James saunters over to the bar, reaching for the shaker I’d used to make the martinis. He looks inside, sees there’s a little left, and tosses it back. “Never been a martini guy. But that’s damn good.”
Misha’s still struggling and yelling against the towel stuffed in his mouth. Samuel saunters over.
“You’d better shut the hell up,” he says, “before I decide to toss you in the storeroom while we wait.”
Misha spits out his gag. “Try it!” he shouts. “Whatever you do to me, I’ll do to you three times over! You and that fucking bi—”
Samuel doesn’t wait a second to respond. He reaches down and slaps Misha across the face, shutting him up and leaving a red palm mark on his cheek.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” Samuel warns.
Misha freezes, his eyes narrowing but his body perfectly still. Finally, he seems to be learning his lesson. And God, does it feel good to see that prick squirm.
Suddenly, the front door to the club opens and two Denver PD officers burst in, their eyes widening as they take in the scene—broken furniture, blood streaked across the floor, five men tied up, four of them unconscious.
“What the hell happened here?” one of the officers demands, his hand already moving toward his radio.
Before I can open my mouth, Misha’s voice fills the air, shrill and accusatory. “Came in and they were all punching and hitting one another! I tried to break it up, but they attacked me!”
I blink, stunned at the sheer audacity of his lie. He just threw his own men under the bus without so much as a second thought.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.
Samuel doesn’t so much as flinch. “Officers, you’ll find their weapons unloaded and on the bar. I’ll give you full access to the camera footage where you’ll see how Misha and his men started this whole thing.”
Misha’s face flushes with rage. “They’re lying! Don’t you know who I am? I’ll have your badges for this! Your bosses will hear all about it!”
The officers exchange a look—one of those silent conversations that say more than words ever could. It’s clear they know exactly who Misha is, and it’s also clear they’re aware that the situation is a lot bigger than them.
“Stay put until backup arrives,” one of them says as he gets on the radio, the other going around to the men and checking their zip ties.
Samuel’s focus shifts back to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, mustering a smile. “I’m good.” The words feel like a lie, but I’m not about to fall apart. Not when Samuel’s already dealing with so much. “I need a second, though.”
“I’m going to check in with James,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“I’ll help when I get back,” I promise, forcing another smile as I push myself to my feet. The officer closest to me gives a curt nod, granting me permission to leave.
I step into the bathroom and sit down to pee, trying to wrap my head around the craziness that just happened. My heart’s still racing, but at least I’m breathing again.
I glance down and see my biggest fear.
Blood.
It’s not much but enough to send a cold wave of fear crashing over me.
No, no, no. My mind races through the possibilities. Did I start my period? Am I losing the baby?
The world blurs around me. I don’t even know if I’m pregnant or not, but the idea of losing a baby…
My hands tremble as I finish up and stand, a sense of urgency propelling me back to the main room. I find Samuel crouched beside James.
“Samuel,” I call, my voice shaky. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing as he takes in my pale face.
“What is it?” he asks, already to his feet.
“I’m bleeding,” I say quietly, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them. “I think I… I might be pregnant, and I’m bleeding.”
For a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then, it’s like a switch flips. He’s in motion, scooping me into his arms as if I weigh nothing.
“We’re going to the hospital,” he announces.
“Samuel, I can walk,” I protest, but he’s already shouting to the officers.
“She needs medical attention! We’re leaving through the back!”
The officers step aside, their earlier authority replaced by concern. Samuel carries me like I’m the only thing that matters, and for the first time all night, I feel safe.
