"Making a girl cry is a lousy look. Any time, any place."
The girl froze. So did her tears.
For a second, the lanky, nothing-special guy she'd dragged into her car seemed to fill the whole room. Jason's easy grin—cocky, a little teasing—kicked her heart into a gallop.
The scar-faced brute, Derek, the hangers-on—right now they were just background behind him.
Warmth the size of a tidal wave broke over her—safety, relief, something like trust—and it chased the tears off her cheeks and left a blush behind.
Scar had never taken Jason seriously. When Jason stepped forward, Scar hawked spit and glared. "You trying to play knight in shining armor, kid? Didn't you see I turned that five-dan black belt into a vegetable?"
Jason shrugged. "What's that got to do with me? I'm better."
Scar almost laughed outright.
"If you're that desperate to get your ass beat, don't blame me for not holding back," he snarled. He was wired and impatient—there was a fresh, soft beauty practically gift-wrapped in his shop. He didn't have time to jaw with some punk.
He twisted and drove an elbow straight for Jason's skull, a brutal strike whistling through the air.
With the power Scar had, if that landed, a hospital visit would be the mild outcome.
Hannah's stomach clenched. She didn't know why she suddenly cared this much, only that she did. And he'd downed a cup of that "tea"—and then hers too. One dose had flattened Derek. Two?
"Watch out!" she cried.
Jason flashed her a smile, unruffled.
Then he lifted his fist and, almost lazily, swatted the air—like he was brushing away a fly.
Bang.
The "fly"—Scar—shot backward like a cut kite and detonated against the far wall. The crash rattled the whole shack.
Jason lowered his hand. He hadn't even moved his feet.
Hannah stared. Scar's lackeys stared. Derek, facedown and drooling, stared. The whole room went silent.
Scar slumped off the wall, dazed. He wasn't done yet.
Sucking air, he rolled over and jabbed a finger at Jason. "Boys! Put him in the ground! Thirty grand to whoever drops him. And whoever does gets to take turns with me on that girl!"
Hannah went paper-white. The goons jolted like they'd touched a live wire.
Thirty thousand was a lot. But more than that, the promise—
They'd all eyed her the moment she'd stepped out of the car. A girl that fresh? Miss it and you'd never get a chance like that again.
Big bounties breed brave idiots. Their hesitation snapped. Seven, eight bodies lunged at Jason, fists swinging for throat, kidneys, joints—every soft spot they could reach.
"Whoa, easy! I'm not the pretty one!" Jason shouted.
They cut off his exits in the cramped room, a storm of knuckles rushing in.
Jason blurred.
He slipped forward, a smear of motion weaving through them. A palm landed on each man in passing—shoulder, sternum, ribs—precise as stamps.
He came to a stop beside Hannah.
The screams hit a beat later.
The goons flew like bowling pins, clattering into walls and furniture before they crashed to the floor in a heap of bloody noses and groans.
Hannah's eyes went wide as saucers. He was…ridiculous.
"It's okay," Jason said, patting her shoulder, eyebrows dancing. "You let me in your car. I'm not about to let anything happen to you."
Her face flared hotter. She turned away, mumbling a tiny acknowledgment.
By the wall, Scar was finally, fully terrified. He'd kicked the wrong door—no, not a door. A titanium vault.
The guy hadn't even ruffled his hair and he'd mowed them down.
When Jason strolled over smiling, Scar dropped his pride so fast it left a skid mark. "Don't—don't kill me, man. I was blind, okay? My bad. I'll give you every dollar I've made."
"Now you want to beg?" Jason crouched, still smiling. "So, remind me: who's the boss here, and who's the little punk?"
Scar shook like a leaf. "I'm the punk. I'm the punk. You're the boss."
"Good." Jason's tone stayed mild. "Then, punk, what exactly did you say you were going to do just now?"
Scar stalled, eyes flicking to Hannah. He remembered. He didn't dare say it.
Smack.
Jason's slap cracked across his cheek, fire blooming under the skin.
"Do you remember?"
Scar clenched his jaw.
Smack. Another. "Do you remember?"
Again and again, until Scar's face ballooned like a bruised ham and he sobbed through the pain. "I…I said we were gonna…gonna…take turns on her…"
"And?"
"And whoever could…could kill you…could join me."
"Excellent."
Jason stood. Then he put his heel down.
Hard.
Something delicate popped like an egg.
Scar's scream shredded the air. The goons twitched as one, hands flying between their legs. One of them actually wet himself.
Jason turned and gave them a pleasant smile. "Relax. You're just accomplices. I'm not doing that to you. But you are going to help me with something."
They collapsed to their knees, shaking. "Say the word, boss! Anything!"
Jason pointed at Scar. "Give him what he planned to give her."
The room went dead.
They were scum, but they were straight scum. This was a line.
Jason's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Anyone who refuses gets what he just got. You're welcome to test me."
The tremors changed. Fear, pure and cold.
Seconds ticked.
One man staggered to his feet. Then another. Then all of them, one by one, choosing their pride or their future children.
What followed was uglier than Scar's first scream.
"Tsk. Classy," Jason said, deadpan, turning his back and walking out.
Hannah hurried after him, cheeks flaming. "You…you started it. That was twisted."
Jason lifted a shoulder. "Picture what they'd have done if they'd gotten their hands on you."
She did. Ice poured down her spine. Compared to that…this was nothing.
She blinked, and the heat in her chest came back. He'd done it for her.
They stepped out of the stink of the back room. Two more goons were posted by the bay door, shaking like chihuahuas.
They'd clearly peeked. The second they saw Jason, they hit their knees. "Boss, we didn't do anything! Let us go, please!"
Jason's gaze slid to the Bentley. One flat earlier. Now all four tires were gone.
He sighed. "Where are the wheels?"
One goon gulped. "The boss—uh, the punk—told us to strip 'em."
Jason scanned the lot and spotted a perfectly good SUV. "I'm taking that one. Any problem?"
"No! None!" both coughed out.
Keys changed hands. Jason fired up the truck, and he and Hannah were almost rolling when he frowned, tapping his temple. "Feels like I'm forgetting something."
A thin, pitiful voice drifted from inside. "Don't…don't go…me too…"
"Nope. Nothing important," Jason decided.
He hit the gas. The SUV leapt off the gravel and onto the highway.
Hannah stared out the window as the mountains bled into suburbs, then city. Jason's grin, the way he moved, even the dirt-plain clothes that should've looked ridiculous on him—they ran loops through her head.
She barely noticed when the skyline reared up.
"You know how to drive?" Jason asked, glancing over.
"Um…yes." She nodded.
"Then this one's yours to deal with. I've got something to do, so I'm hopping out here." He smiled. "Also, I didn't say it earlier—you're gorgeous. If we run into each other again, marry me."
Before she could muster a comeback, he had the door open and one foot on the curb.
Hannah froze, heat rushing back to her cheeks, and watched him stride away through the traffic glare.
What a jerk. An infuriating, impossible jerk.
But…would they see each other again?