Getting Rowdy. Lori Foster

      For the love of... He’d gotten through a lot of ugliness in his lifetime, but right now, seeing how Avery lived, he was about as grim as a man could get. “Come on.”

      Hooking her purse strap over her shoulder, she looked around with apprehension, not at the men—who Rowdy considered the obvious threat—but again at the shadows. “Guess I should pick up a flashlight, huh?”

      Or a gun. Maybe a bodyguard or two.

      But with him nearby, she didn’t need anything or anyone else. He would protect her.

      “Doesn’t matter.” More often than not, the dark had been Rowdy’s friend. In so many ways, he was still more comfortable in it than in the light. As he walked with her to the back entrance of the tall, narrow brick building, he eyed the motley trio hanging out. Given the way they watched Avery, he wondered if he should talk with them, make sure they understood—

      “Behave, Rowdy.”

      Yeah, she picked up on his cues as easily as he picked up on hers. “I am behaving.” And weighing my options.

      “I don’t want any trouble, so ignore them, please.”

      He had a feeling there’d be trouble regardless of her wants. “Are they always there?”

      She kept her attention on the apartment building. “Or their ilk. It’s not like we’ve had introductions so I can’t say for sure if it’s always the same men.” She sorted through her keys. “So far it’s been fine. No big problems.”

      Little problems, he knew, could sometimes escalate into a tsunami of threats. While Rowdy waited impatiently, Avery struggled to get the key to work the old rusted lock.

      One of the men must’ve been feeling brave, because he took a few steps closer and called out to them in a drunken slur. “Ain’t had no ponytail in a while. Maybe I can be up next?”

      The other two chortled, offering their encouragement and egging on the drunken bum. The comments continued, going from Avery’s hair to her ass, getting more crude by the second.

      When another bottle broke, that one too close to be an accident, Avery nearly dropped her keys.

      “Let me.” Rowdy took the keys from her and opened both locks, then pushed the warped door open.

      The guy moved closer, probably no more than three or four yards behind them. “What will five bucks get me?”

      More hilarity, some cheering on. “Might get you a handy,” his buddy called out.

      “Or a least a flash peek of that bod.”

      “Yeah,” the nearest man demanded. “Five bucks for a peep show! Prove you’re a real redhead.”

      And Rowdy decided aloud, “Fuck it.”

      Oftentimes it was better to confront a problem head-on instead of trying to avoid it. This was one of those problems.

      As he shoved the bag of apparel back at Avery, she said, “Don’t you dare!”

      He gave her one stern look. “Get inside. Lock the door behind you.”

      “Damn you, Rowdy Yates—”

      Shaking off her clutching hands, he moved farther away from her while assessing the group.

      What he saw was no challenge at all, not as long as Avery went in and secured the door so he’d know she was safe.

      The group looked to be late thirties, early forties.

      Drunk and dumb.

      He understood both firsthand.

      Staring at the leader with dead eyes, Rowdy walked toward him. “Got something to say?”

      Too wasted to understand his precarious position, the fool gave a loud laugh. “If the honey is taking on customers, I’ve got some change I can spare.”

      Eyes narrowed, Rowdy kept up a steady but unhurried approach. As he drew closer, the man balked, dropping his hands from his hips, looking back at his buddies. As one, they crowded in with silent support, chins out, shoulders squared, mouths sneering—and strides staggered.

      Rowdy curled his mouth in a mean, provoking smile. “I know you’re firing on liquid courage, but you really might want to rethink this. Whatever bullshit you’re considering, I’ve been there and done it better.”

      “I’m thinking it’s three against one.”

      “Lousy odds for you.” Rowdy stopped only inches in front of the other man. “You’ve shown your ass and had your fun. But nothing else is happening here. Not this time. Not ever with her.”

      One of the men, heavily bearded like a damned yeti, tried to move to Rowdy’s side. Rowdy stopped him with a look. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

      The brazen one laughed. “You seriously want to fight all of us?”

      “There wouldn’t be a fight.” The burning urge for violence uncoiled inside him. “I can prove it if you need me to, but it’d be easier on all of us if you just moved on.” Easier on Avery, for sure. He knew when this ended, she’d give him all kinds of hell.

      Soured beer breath assaulted Rowdy when the man bumped closer to him. “We’re allowed to be here.”

      Rowdy didn’t budge an inch. Sometimes men just needed to let off steam. He got that.

      Hell, he felt it himself right now.

      “Here in the lot, sure.” He leaned in—forcing the shorter man to lean back. “But you’re not allowed to disrespect her or bother her, and you sure as hell aren’t allowed to get near her.”

      In a belated bid for control, the guy lifted both hands to shove Rowdy back.

      Bad move.

      Using his momentum against him, Rowdy pulled the fool forward, off balance, and clipped him in the face with his elbow. The drunk sprawled to the ground, landing on the rough gravel with a painful curse.

      The yeti swung but Rowdy dodged the fist, then delivered one short jab to the bloated beer gut. On a sharp exhalation, the bigfoot went down hard over his buddy.

      “Fucking asshole,” the third man said, charging forward.

      Rowdy leaned to the left and brought up his knee, catching the shorter man in the chin. He stumbled backward, stood frozen for a second and then crumpled to the ground.

      The first man showed signs of life, groaning from beneath the ape. Rowdy stood there, fists clenched, wanting him to get up. He still sizzled with unspent tension.

      He wanted, needed, a real fight.

      What happened instead left him very dissatisfied.

      The third guy slid on the gravel until his feet found purchase, then he lurched away, a hand to his nose to stem the flow of blood. He literally fled the scene and never once looked back.

      Well, hell.

      The second guy sat up, grumbling and holding his big gut. Calling Rowdy names in a low, whiny voice, he got to his feet. Meaty arms wrapped around his belly, he staggered off after his buddy.

      The first man down stay sprawled on his back.

      Rowdy crouched beside him. “You’re a disappointment, man. I really wanted to take you apart, but you’re drunker than I realized.”

      “Fuck you,” he grumbled in a very slurred voice. Unbelievably, he curled to his side and stopped moving.

      Narrowing his gaze, Rowdy waited—and heard the drunk’s breathing even out. “No way.” He nudged the guy, but only got a snuffling groan that went back into a near snore. Rowdy shot to his feet. “Goddamn it.”

      “I take it you wanted more sport?”

      Jerking around, Rowdy