Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark #1)(84)

“Do you know any of the gang members?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“Nah, I’ve only been here a week. But I noticed one or two hanging around.”

She lowered her voice. “Any here now?”

“Don’t know. Since you walked in, all I’ve noticed is you. Young. Soft.” He wiggled his fingers.

“Why don’t you take a look around and see if any of them are here?”

He didn’t answer. His fingers shifted beneath the bra strap on her shoulder. She adjusted her lips to hide her lowering fangs, and from the corner of her eye she saw Chase watching, his face a mask of fury.

Why was he so upset? The creep wasn’t fingering his underwear. She had to clench her hands to keep from coldcocking the half-drunk jerk.

“Glance around,” she said again. “Please.” She wiggled her brow in what she hoped would appear to be a flirty gesture.

He shifted his gaze round the room, his finger moving back and forth under her bra strap, each stroke a little closer to her left breast. Each stroke bringing her closer to going apeshit on his ass.

“Nope, none are here now.” Ponytail’s eyes found hers again. “How about you and I go take a walk?”

“How about you telling me what you heard about the fresh turn?” It took effort to keep her voice soft. “Did he have short dark hair?”

“How about we talk after we walk?”

A growl, deep and sinister, sounded across the table. “How about you get your dirty hands off her?” Chase leaned into the table, his fangs fully extended, his eyes now such a bright lime green, you needed sunglasses to look at him.

The jerk glared back. For one second, he reacted to the brightness of Chase’s eyes; then he seemed to toss the worry aside. Della wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.

“Now, buddy,” Ponytail said. “I don’t hear Sweetie complaining.”

The name was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And would probably wind up being the straw that broke this freak’s wrist. “I told you, my name’s not Sweetie!” She yanked the guy’s arm from around her and twisted it almost to the point of breaking it.

He growled, almost reached for her with his other hand, but she gave the limb another tight twist, letting him know one move and his arm would be dangling at an odd angle. And she’d make certain it wasn’t at a pretty angle. Sure, vamps healed quickly, but she’d heard a broken bone still hurt like hell.

The scoundrel glared at her.

She glared right back, then cut her gaze around the room. All the bar patrons watched with malicious intent. And she had a feeling it wasn’t aimed at Mr. Ponytail. She and Chase could probably take on four, but if they all teamed up, she might be testing the broken-bone theory herself. They had to get out of here. She glanced at Chase, and cut her eyes to the exit. Then she dropped her tight hold of the guy’s arm and shot toward the door, assuming Chase would follow, and follow fast.

She’d assumed wrong.

She stopped at the last table on the way out.

Chase, taking his time, stood from his chair, but never stepped away from the table. He glared down at Ponytail. Chase’s posture and hostile expression practically begged the jerk to try something. Was Chase nuts? Didn’t he feel the glares from the crowd?

Did he not realize how outnumbered they were?

“Let’s go,” Della said.

She no more got the words out than she knew that had been a mistake.

“You always do what your whore tells you to?” the jerk, rubbing his arm, asked Chase.

“Did you just call her a whore?” Chase clenched his fist.

Every muscle in Della’s body tightened, prepared to fight. But before she took one step, Chase had the ass**le against the wall. And not the wall beside the table where they’d sat, but the one on the other side of the bar. How? She hadn’t even seen him move. Holy crap! Just how fast was the panty perv?

He held the guy by the throat, pressing him against the faded paneling. The jerk’s feet dangled a foot off the floor. He should have been kicking, but from the color of the lowlife’s face, he wasn’t getting air, and probably knew one wrong move and his windpipe would be crushed.

“Tell her you’re sorry,” Chase demanded.

“You wreck this place, you pay for it!” the bartender, leaning against the bar, yelled out. “You wanna kill each other, do it outside. We’ll join you and take bets on who’ll make it.”

Chase, obviously ignoring the bartender, didn’t move. “I said, tell her you’re sorry!”

The jerk, his face now blood-red, couldn’t talk, but he moved his lips.

“I didn’t hear you,” Chase seethed. “Try that again.”

The man’s friend shot up from his chair. Della flew toward him, but before she got there, he’d slung a table at Chase.

Chase never looked back, but with his free hand he caught the table by one leg and held it up in midair like some kind of circus performer.

“Sit your ass back down,” Chase growled, and while he never looked at the table thrower, there was no doubt who he was talking to.

Della gazed around the room, watching for the next attack, prepared to intervene, if needed. Oddly enough, only the man’s friend who’d thrown the furniture seemed to be a threat. Everyone else just seemed entertained.