I open my mouth to speak, but a deep, accented voice comes from behind me, and I tense all over.
“And how exactly does he treat da girls?”
Viv pales, and I mentally curse her as she gapes over my shoulder and back at me, panic in her eyes. I’m going to duct-tape her mouth shut for the rest of the night.
Slowly, with a begrudged motion, I turn to face the monstrous beast of a man they call Amani, and then tilt my head back so I can see his eyes. Holy shit. He’s at least seven feet tall, his muscles have muscles, and he looks like he wants to slice my head off my shoulders.
And he’s a trained killer?
I can’t even feel bad about feeling intimidated.
“He… I didn’t mean… I… need a drink,” Viv stammers, and my lips tighten as she runs away, abandoning me with a man who definitely hates my guts. No doubt about it.
“You can answer me,” he says, glaring at me like he’s trying to burrow holes through my skull with just that scathing look.
“I treat them like they treat me,” I tell him, not confessing how I pick girls with certain traits like Bora had.
His gaze narrows. “Vince told me you’re a MMA fighter.”
Yeah… Not letting him think I can hold my own in a fight sounds like a good idea. I prefer not to find out if I can take him or if I’d be a punching bag.
“I mostly run a gym,” I announce.
I’ve never felt like a pussy in all my life until this moment.
“But you like to fight,” he tells me, not phrasing it like a question.
“Um… I like an organized fight with officials and all that. It’s just a hobby.”
“Men with rage inside them like to fight. Men with rage inside them hurt women.”
My eyes widen and I shake my head. “Hell no. I’ve never touched a girl like that. I don’t even allow guys like that in my gym. I only fight fair in an organized, official setting, and only with other men.”
Holy shit. Why is my voice up two octaves?
He runs his eyes down the length of my body before meeting my gaze again. That look is murderous. Literally.
“If you ever touch Bo, I will remove your balls. If you fight me when I remove your balls, I will feed them to you when I’m done. This is no empty threat. Understand me?”
Motherfucking hell.
My throat bobs up and down more times than I care to admit before I nod once.
A white, full-tooth smile flashes at me before he claps me on the shoulder so hard that it forces out the breath I’ve been holding.
“Good. We understand each other then.”
I see Bo watching us with a wary gaze, and Amani gives her a small wave, seeming far less intimidating as he speaks through his smile low enough for only me to hear.
“I hate carving up balls, so remember this conversation,” he says, never losing his smile, acting as though he didn’t just make a genuine threat.
Bo smiles back, apparently convinced we’re in a good conversation over here, and she turns back around, while I fight the reflexive urge to grab and shield my manhood.
Amani’s smile disappears in that next instant, and he growls—actually growls—as he walks away, sending death threats silently with those freakishly dark eyes. It’s not until he’s out of sight that I actually unclench my asshole and take a breath.
Bo waves me over, and I walk on unsteady legs to join her as we sit down around the fire and listen to more survivor tales. By the third heart-wrenching story, I forget about Amani because there are true stories of horror that will forever alter the way I see people.
And Bo helped change their lives.