Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove

will
regret this decision. Now, if you’d like, I can have my security team send you
anything you’d like on me to satisfy your distrust of me. I’ve never been
arrested. Yes, I’ve had a few speeding tickets, but that’s about it. I drink
alcohol, don’t do drugs, and other than my ink here, I lead a relatively boring
life. And by the way, each one of my tattoos tells a story, but really that’s
none of your business.”
    He
sits and stares. I don’t break eye contact, not even to blink. I’m an expert at
this because an intimidator raised me. Ralph is a decent sized guy, but he’s
not nearly as large as I am. He’s probably five feet eleven and he knows I have
him. The wheels churn; I can see him clenching his jaw and the flicker in his
pupils. Finally, he dips his head slightly.
    “Okay.”
    “Good.
No woo-fuckery here, then?” I ask.
    His
brow creases. “Huh?”
    Shayla
slams her hand on the table and the glasses rattle. Her laugher fills the room
and heads turn. I wink at her as Ralph watches her like she’s lost all her
sense.
    The
rest of our dinner goes rather well. When we’re done, I ask if they’d like to
join me for a drink at a bar down the street. They decline, so we part ways. I
watch as they climb in the limo and drive off. Then I walk down the street and
find another spot to hit. It’s only ten o’clock and I’m in no mood to go home.
I find a nice quiet bar and grab a Lagavulin. I chuckle to myself when I think
of Ralph ordering this. I can’t deny his taste in Scotch.
    As
I sip my drink, I scan the crowd from my corner seat at the bar. It consists of
couples, except for me. I spy one couple at a table directly across the room
and it appears they’re having an argument. When I take a better look, I realize it’s Carter. She’s frowning and gesticulating and he’s
angry-looking. They both have untouched drinks in front of them. He’s a
preppie-looking type and she’s looking geeky as usual—thick glasses and
hair pulled tight in a sloppy ponytail. She suddenly stands, her chair topples
over, she picks it up and stomps out of the place, crying. He’s left there
staring after her.
    First,
I’m surprised how at shocked I am to have seen her in here with a man. She
doesn’t seem the type to date. Second, I’m torn between following her, or
leaving her alone. She was clearly upset, crying, and angry. Should I check on
her to see if she’s okay? I don’t want it to seem like I was eavesdropping, but
I also want her to be safe. This is downtown Charleston, though, a safe area, so
I don’t dwell on that part for long. Since Carter’s personal life is none of my
business I decide to drop it. A few minutes later, I finish my drink and walk
home.  
    Turning
the corner on Tradd Street, a few feet ahead I see a
hunched up figure leaning on a brick wall. As I get closer, I recognize it’s
Carter, and I can hear her softly crying. When she hears my footsteps, she
jerks upright.
    “Carter?
Are you okay?” I ask.
    She’s
taken her glasses off and she looks me dead in the eyes. It’s hard to see
because it’s so dark, but the reflection of streetlight makes her cheeks
glisten where tears have left their traces behind.
    “I’m
fine. What are you doing here?”
    Her
southern accent is refined, much different than Shayla’s. It’s obvious by the
way she’s shielding herself that I’ve frightened her. Should I tell her I was
in the bar? Would that seem like I was spying on her?
    “I’m
on my way home from dinner. Do you need a hand?”
    “N-No.
I’m fine. Truly.”
    “Are
you sure? I can walk you home.”
    “No,
it’s okay.”
    She
really is in no condition to walk alone. So I reach for her arm and say, “Come.
I insist.”
    She
allows me to lead her.
    “So,
what are you doing out here all alone?”
    She
sags against me. “It’s a long story.”
    “I
have time.”
    “I
met Ells’ father. We’re sort of friends. And we argued. Like we usually do.”
    Her
body leans on