To observers, he probably looked like a concerned boyfriend helping a drunken girlfriend home. “We need to talk.” He looked over his shoulder as he continued dragging her away. “And it’ll best be done in private.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AFTER RUDELY PUSHING her way to the front, Mary grabbed his arm. “Cannon?”
Not again. He’d just fended her off as politely as he could, but she hadn’t been gone two minutes before returning.
He’d already told her there’d be nothing between them. He didn’t feel like rehashing it again so soon.
Easily sidestepping her with the way others wanted his attention, he gave her his back.
But she tangled a hand in the back of his waistband and gave a tug. When he looked at her in disbelief, she said, “I’m sorry,” then said it again to the young couple he’d been about to serve. “I wouldn’t interrupt, except that this is important. At least, I think it is.”
Something in her tone gave him pause, and that had him automatically scanning the bar for Yvette.
He didn’t see her. Armie had claimed she was only getting air and would be right back in.
But then where was she?
Mary tugged at him again, and when he leaned closer, she whispered, “I just want to help, I promise.”
Help with what? He handed the tray over the bar to Rowdy. “I’m taking a break.”
“Sure.” He skipped his attention to Mary, but didn’t comment. “You’re long overdue anyway.”
“Thanks.” Promising he’d be right back, he excused himself from the crowd. Seeking a modicum of privacy, he pulled Mary slightly away. “All right. What is it?”
“Your... I guess your girlfriend?”
“Yvette?”
As if that confirmed something for her, she let out a disappointed breath. He would have commented on that, but she immediately rallied with determination.
“I saw her outside.”
Yeah, he knew that. “She’s grabbing some fresh air.” Impatience and something more, something turbulent, churned inside him.
“I...I think she needs you.”
Needed him because she was upset? Or something more?
Wanting to see for himself, he nodded at Mary. “Thanks.” He started away, but again she held on.
“Listen to me, will you?” Aware of the crowd, she lowered her voice. “When I went out, she was there alone. But then some guy got in her space, and I don’t know her well, but I do know pushy men. That guy was pushy.” Mary lifted her shoulders. “I could tell she didn’t like it.”
Heath? No, it couldn’t be.
Not here, at a crowded public place. Probably just some idiot flirting with her. But, damn it...
Cannon quickly kissed her cheek. “Thanks, honey. Appreciate it.” Apprehension pulsed in his temples. He crossed the bar in long strides, wending his way through the patrons with haste, unable to reply to greetings and ignoring questions.
He knew Mary followed him, maybe a few others, too. Damn it, Yvette hated scenes. If he charged out there, half the damn bar would go with him.
He was probably overreacting; he couldn’t imagine any guy seeing her and not making a play.
That wasn’t reason to go on a rampage.
But his heart beat harder and a dangerous mix of fury and fear stacked up inside him.
He pushed through the doors, quickly scanned the groups of people loitering about. He didn’t see her and the panic set in. He turned, searching every dark corner and alley, and finally glanced across the street.
A trio of boys he knew spotted him, and by their expressions alone he knew something wasn’t right.
Jogging, he headed toward them. A car horn blared; a driver cursed him.
They didn’t greet him as usual, didn’t smile at his presence. They were young, but they’d seen enough brutality to recognize it at a gut level.
“Have you seen her?” Cannon asked even before he’d reached them.
“She is with you, then?” one of them asked.
Fuck, f**k, f**k. “Where is she?”
The oldest of boys, probably only sixteen, jerked his head to the side and back.
Cannon peered through the dark between tall buildings to a gravel lot behind them—and saw Heath and Yvette next to a car. Body language said they were both pissed. Heath’s voice rose, indistinct but angry.
The kids shuffled restlessly, taught to stay uninvolved, but influenced by Cannon to do just the opposite. It was a daily battle they fought between social apathy and schooled justice. “We were trying to decide if we should come get you—”
Heath opened a car door and Yvette protested. She turned to leave, but Heath grabbed her back.
Every combustible feeling Cannon suffered suddenly ignited, then blew. Forgetting the boys, he took off in a run, rage expanding with his pounding footsteps.
Everything faded from his periphery except for Yvette. Her fear-widened eyes. How she strained away from Heath. The noise her sandals made as they slipped in the gravel.
“Let her go.” The lethal order must have given Heath pause, because he hesitated. Yvette almost twisted away, but Heath caught her by the back of her T-shirt. It ripped from the shoulder.
Uncaring who might hear, Cannon told him, “You are so f**king dead.”
At that, Heath shoved her to the side and charged.
He had only a second to glance at Yvette, to see she was okay, before Heath was there, right in front of him.
Cannon met him with a fist that knocked his head back. Another to his gut. As Heath reeled back, Cannon kicked his ribs. The hit sounded like a blast, and he knew he’d just broken a rib or two.