Derrick frowned hard at the sixth fucker who walked up to the back bar, eyeing Lucy like a hungry hyena coveting a lion’s kill across the wide expanse of wood before placing an order.
Motherfuckers.
Why the heck had he ever promised to let her take care of herself tonight? She had nothing to prove to him. He knew her she-Cat was fierce and bold. But she was his, dammit. He wanted—no, he needed—to protect her. Wanted to provide for her. To keep her safe and secure.
It was ingrained in his DNA, for f**k’s sake. He watched as she smiled at the soon to be dead asshole, waving a crisp fifty-dollar bill at her while ordering his drink. The dickface tipped it towards her, almost brushing the filthy bill across her ample cleavage, but she snatched it before it made contact, and turned her back
