Chapter 20
Three burly foreign men staggered over.
One slammed into the table edge, jostling the wine glass. Amber liquid splashed onto Rita Johnson’s hand.
She instinctively recoiled, but another man rudely lifted her chin. “What’s the rush? Hey, pretty thing.”
Rita frowned and wrenched free.
The man’s gaze lingered on her face, his smile turning predatory.
Nathan Wilson shot up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Back off! I’m calling the cops!”
His neck stiffened, face pale. White–knuckled hands gripped the table edge.
“Relax, buddy. Just wanna buy your lady friend a drink.”
The man’s hand landed heavily on Rita’s shoulder.
She jerked away, voice icy. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Let her go!”
Nathan lunged forward but got shoved hard. He stumbled into the table, sending plates crashing.
The other two foreigners closed in, cursing. Nathan fell silent, only glaring.
Nearby diners either looked down or quietly gathered their things to
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leave.
Seeing Nathan’s evasive eyes, Rita’s heart sank. She drew a sharp breath and grabbed a steak knife–but a warm hand clamped over her
wrist.
Thwack! Glass shattered, liquor spraying.
The man beside her howled, clutching his bleeding head. His grip on Rita vanished.
The other two snatched chairs, swinging at Timothy Taylor’s head.
Timothy dodged sideways, retaliating with a vicious punch. His usual gentlemanly demeanor vanished, replaced by feral rage–like an enraged beast.
Glass crunched. Chairs overturned. Screams and shouts fused. No one intervened except Rita’s voice cutting through chaos: “Timothy, stop!”
Her cry made him hesitate. Half a second. Enough time for the tallest man to smash a beer bottle against his back.
Timothy didn’t flinch. He took the blow, agony exploding through him. Then he seized the attacker’s collar and slammed him to the floor.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The three men scrambled up and fled.
Timothy stood panting, back burning. He didn’t check his wound, just stared intensely at Rita.
She stood amid the wreckage, eyes locked on him.
His throat moved. He wanted to speak, but only managed a grimace that looked worse than tears. He turned to leave.
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Chapter 20
A hand caught his wrist.
Rita trembled. Her fingertips brushed the torn flesh on his arm. Her eyes reddened.
“Have you lost your mind? You promised me you’d stop playing hero!”
He didn’t turn. Didn’t pull away.
Blood seeped through his white shirt, staining it crimson. Yet beneath her touch, his heart raced feverishly.
All those days of “accidental” meetings. All that forced indifference. None of it mattered now–not against her teary rebuke.
He simply couldn’t bear to see her wronged.
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