Free Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series by Celia Loren Page B

of the bar. As I haul the heavy door open and step inside, I feel several
sets of eyes turn toward me and someone immediately whistles. I look around
nervously for Holt, but the place is so dark I can barely see and music blares
from the speakers.
    There, that hulking shape in the booth at the back is
probably him. I step around several large, rough-looking men and fewer women,
working my way toward him without trying to attract any attention. It doesn't
work.
    "Hey baby." Foul B.O. hits my nose as a man slings
his arm over my shoulders. "You look good enough to eat."
    "Not interested," I say flatly, and shrug off his
arm as I pick up my pace towards Holt.
    "Hey, c'mon," he cries, following me. I reach the
booth and Holt glances up at me. The strange man looks between us. "Oh,
sorry, Holt. Didn't know."
    "Friend of yours?" I ask, looking after him as he
scurries away.
    "Nah. Think I've seen him around here a few times,
though," Holt says casually.
    "OK..." I slide down into the booth across from
him. I watch him look over the top of my dress before he returns to his beer. "So,
um, I think the garden came out well."
    "Oh, yeah?"
    "Yeah. I watched the light yesterday like you said, and
the kitchen window gets almost full sun. I got these really tiny plants at the
nursery. I thought maybe growing from seeds for the first time would be too
difficult. And I got this silver planter to put them in that attaches over the
sill. Dill, thyme, rosemary, and basil." I realize I'm babbling and bite
my lip, feeling embarrassed. Holt is just staring down at his beer. Anger
flares inside me and I take a deep breath to keep my voice calm. "You're
acting weird. If you didn't want me to come to this shithole, then you
shouldn't have invited me. After what….you know…life's too short for this kind
of bullshit."
    I stand up and walk away. I feel Holt's hand on my wrist
after I've barely taken a single step.
    "Wait."
    "Why?" I demand.
    "I'm sorry. Will you sit back down? Please?" I
glare down at him, but soften as I see his gray-green eyes looking up at me
with sadness in them. Whatever front he'd been putting up, it's gone.
    I step back and slide into the booth. He runs his hands
through his hair. I examine his face. He's got bags under his eyes.
    "I got wasted last night. I woke up a few hours
ago."
    "Alright…"
    "I was drinking because, fuck. I was thinking about you
too much."
    I smile. "Yeah, I know that feeling. I mean, about
you."
    "There are some things about me…" he pauses,
seeming like he's trying to gather his words, and pushes around his empty pint
glass. "Can I get you a beer?" he asks suddenly.
    "Yeah, sure."
    He stands up and then bends over, kissing me quickly on the
lips, just long enough to send a quiver running through my body. He stares at
me for a second before turning around and walking to the bar. I blink and look
after him. He bends over the bar, leaning his forearms against it. I feel a
twinge of longing in my stomach, and wish we were alone in bed holding each
other right now. I take a deep breath. At least he seems more like himself now.
    A man cuts off my vision of him, moving from the corner of
the bar and approaching Holt from behind. I frown at him, not liking something
about the way he's moving. The dim light from bare ceiling bulbs glints off
something in his hand, gripped tightly next to my leg. A knife, I realize with
horror.
    "Holt!" I scream, standing up as the man nears
him. A few people near me follow my gaze and stand up, too, but no one's doing
anything. And the music is too loud—Holt can't hear me. I won't be able to
reach him in time. My hand brushes against Holt's empty pint glass on the
table. Before I can think about what I'm doing, I pick it up and chuck it as
hard as I can at the man's back.
    The man stumbles forward as it slams into his spine. The
glass lands on the ground with a crash and Holt spins around at the noise. I
watch him glance at the man in front of him and then at the knife in