Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(53)

My eyes dart to the door. It’s only five feet away.

That earns Bob’s toothy grin. “Take your pick—it’s here or the next time I see you.”

I’m no idiot. If I give in now, he’ll still try to make me do it at the drop and there are no bouncers there to save me. “Eddie wouldn’t allow that,” I answer, forcing certainty in my voice. I have no idea what Eddie might allow but he hasn’t had patience for Bob’s leisurely search tactics so far, so I can only hope I’m right.

By the narrowing of Bob’s eyes and the sudden flushing of his cheeks, that was the wrong thing to say. He’s on me in a flash, kicking my feet out from under me and pushing me down onto the ground. I land with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “You think what Eddie says goes?” He reaches down to grab and lift me up by the face, his strong fingers squeezing my jaw until tears spring to my eyes. “Eddie doesn’t own me. I do what I want!”

Bob’s muscular arm pulls back and I see him make a fist. I close my eyes and wince, bracing myself against the impact that’s about to come, knowing it’s going to cause severe damage.

It never comes, though.

The sound of the door being thrown open and a shout comes a split second before Bob’s painful grip vanishes and I drop to the ground again, spending a few seconds working the ache out of my face by wriggling my jaw. When I manage to pick myself up, I find Nate and Ben flanking Cain, who has Bob on his knees with a white-knuckled grip of his shirt collar. Bob has at least thirty pounds on Cain but right now, with the blazing rage in my boss’s dark eyes and the way his muscles cord along his neck and arms, I don’t doubt that Cain could bury Bob in seconds.

And that he very well might.

“Who the f*ck are you?” Cain growls, all semblance of his reserved, professional nature gone. When Bob doesn’t answer, his eyes panning back and forth between Nate, Ben, and the door, Cain’s nostrils begin to flare. “You’ve got about four seconds to start talking.”

“Easy to threaten when you’re three on one, isn’t it?” Bob tosses back with a sneer, trying to stand his ground, even while on his knees.

That makes Cain’s lips curl into a smile. Not the smile I love. A wicked smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. As if he was waiting for an invitation. “Nate, Ben, . . . take Charlie and step outside.” His icy tone sends a shiver through my insides.

Ben and Nate share a look but don’t move.

“Outside. Now!” Cain’s bark makes me jump.

Ben moves as if to comply, reaching out to me with a hand. Nate doesn’t budge, though. “You know I can’t do that, boss.”

“And why is that?” Cain taunts, never leaving Bob’s eyes. It’s as if he knows the answer but wants Nate to say it out loud, to have Bob hear it.

“Because this fool will not walk out of here if I leave you alone with him,” Nate answers, just as calmly. “So why don’t you let me take care of him.” Adding a little more softly, “Let it go, Cain.”

I haven’t taken a single breath since they stormed in. I have to take one now. It’s small and shaky and, as I study Cain’s face—a mask of cold, detached hatred—I realize that I’ve now gone from one dangerous situation to another.

I need Bob gone. Immediately.

“I’m fine, Cain. He’s just some guy who thought I was someone else,” I explain, taking a step forward.

Cain’s severe gaze finally settles on me. There is a turmoil within his eyes that can’t be missed—fear? Panic? Anger? Shock? With tentative steps, I close the distance and place a gentle hand on his forearm, which is taut with tension. His eyes haven’t left mine. “Cain, please. Just let Nate take him out.” I hate the pleading in my tone but at this point, I’m desperate. I can’t have Bob saying a word and I definitely can’t have Cain beating the hell out of him. That will just end badly for me down the road. As it is, I don’t know what this is going to mean at my next drop. I can’t think about it right now.

Right now I have to defuse this situation.

I slowly rub my hand back and forth over Cain’s arm, each muscle ripped, as tightly wound as he is.

After another long pause, he finally releases Bob from his death grip and steps in front of me, shielding my body behind him protectively.

As Bob struggles to get up, his eyes flash to me. I see the promise in them.

The promise of retribution.

I fight the tremble that skates along my spine.

“Your type isn’t welcome in this club,” Cain warns. “Stay the f*ck out.”

Bob snorts, trailing beside Nate, who’s got one mammoth hand resting on his shoulder to steer him in the right direction as quickly and quietly as possible. Bob throws back, “Maybe you should look more closely at the type of whores you hire in here.”

Nate and Ben—obviously knowing their boss too well—anticipated his reaction because they move fast, Nate shoving Bob out of the room while Ben blocks Cain from chasing after him. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him,” Ben says, stepping backward slowly, “and you take care of Charlie.”

My hands find my stomach, pressing against the growing tangle of nerves inside. Why couldn’t I just keep these lives separate for a while longer? It’s as if the universe is conspiring against me, reminding me that I don’t have an indefinite amount of time. That everything will come crashing down. With just one phone call, just one visit . . .