Out of nowhere, someone pulled me into a firm embrace and kicked the drunk guy away like it was nothing.
Startled, I turned–and there he was. Ray.
“Which hand touched her?” His voice was ice, his glare sharp enough to freeze the room. “Or was it both?”
The sharp crack of his shoe meeting the guy’s hand was followed by a scream that made everyone flinch.
Ray pressed down harder. “Still here? Leave. Now.”
The guy tripped over himself apologizing and stumbled away.
In my memory, Ray had always been the calm, gentle type–a picture of grace and patience. Seeing him like this, furious and
fierce, was a first.
Once the drunk guy was gone, Ray turned back to me, cupping my cheek. “Good thing I got here in time. What would I have done
if someone bullied my fiancée?”
