Free Borden (Borden #1) by R. J. Lewis

nobody felt safe around this man, no matter who they were.
    “How long have you been here?” he then asked, turning back to look at me.
    “Two hours maybe,” I answered hesitantly.
    “Did you come with a man?”
    “No.”
    “Who did you come with?”
    “A friend of mine.”
    “Is your friend still here?”
    “Yes.”
    Curtly, he said, “I recommend next time you come out this late at night and hang around alleyways, Miss Warne, that you come with a man on your arm. Being alone like this makes you vulnerable and easily taken advantage of. The last thing I need is a trail leading to my club because you were dumb enough to get into some trouble with a measly switchblade you wouldn’t have found time to dig out between your breasts for protection.”
    I was beyond red. “I told you I was with a friend.”
    “And you also just told me your friend doesn’t have a pair of swinging balls, isn’t that right?”
    “Well, yes, but –”
    “Point made. Don’t fucking do it again, in or around any of my establishments.”
    I shut my mouth, fighting the urge to tell him I was a grown woman and I could do whatever the hell I wanted to, but, yeah, that wasn’t happening. Not when I was standing in the middle of a dragon’s den, ready to be devoured if I so much as blinked the wrong way.
    “And next time,” he added, a small smirk accompanying his lips, “try avoiding alleyways for a place to take a breather. That’s simple street logic.”
    I bit my bottom lip, holding back the curse words itching to come out. I was pretty sure it was the fear stopping them from taking over.
    “So where are you headed to now?” he harshly asked.
    “To my friend?” I had no idea if that was the answer he wanted.
    “Wrong. You’re going home. Isn’t that right?” His face darkened as he regarded me.
    Heat rose to my cheeks. I nodded quickly.
    He eyed my bare arms. “Have you no coat, Miss Warne?”
    “I do… I don’t know…I don’t…” I began stammering, looking down at my black dress and bare arms, wondering where the hell I put it before I remembered I never even brought it.
    For several moments he watched me flounder before turning to the asshole beside me. “Hawke,” he said irritably, “Miss Warne is a little confused. Perhaps we didn’t account for her slow mind. Take her to her house before she continues talking shit.” His grim gaze landed back on me. “I don’t want to see you at my club ever again. Do you hear?”
    I nodded again.
    “Good. Get the fuck out .”
    Hawke steered me roughly out of the room. My head was spinning and I could hardly keep my legs up. My knees buckled, but Hawke kept me upright. Even though we were heading away from the danger, I knew I was having a panic attack. My vision was blurry and spotty. I stared at my feet moving unevenly on the ground. I was practically being dragged by this man. I heard loud voices and music in the background before cold autumn air hit my body. Before I could process anything, I was in the back of a moving car.
    “What’s your fucking address?” Hawke roughly asked me.
    “2514 Maple Street,” I answered through numb lips.
    I had my arms wrapped around my queasy stomach the entire way there. When we reached the tall apartment building, Hawke walked me past the group of men that usually loitered around the complex during the night. He didn’t say a word. He stayed put behind me, watching me carefully unlock the glass door with the key hanging on my necklace.
    When I opened it, he continued to watch me walk hesitantly to the elevator. I looked back at him several times; his long hair and thick beard stood out in my memory the most. When the elevator closed and I could see him no more, I immediately hunched over and threw up in the corner of the elevator. Nothing came out because I’d hardly eaten anything that day, but I couldn’t stop heaving. Acid burned my throat, tears and black hair blurred my vision, and my stomach clenched painfully