To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 8

HEATH

I'd spent the last forty-eight hours warning myself against coming to Rex's tonight.

I knew from the sparks dancing in Isla's sky-blue eyes during out last conversation that she'd come to the bar just to spite me, and I told myself to let her. It wasn't my job to police her evenings. I had no claim over her, no matter the intense possessiveness that I couldn't seem to shake every time I laid eyes on her mane of golden waves. Isla Mae was a big girl. She didn't need me.

But now, holding Isla's little body tight against my chest, I was grateful I ignored my better judgement.

"Hey man, what the fuck?" the skinny bastard who'd been dancing with her moments ago challenged, throwing his hands up in the air.

I arrived at Rex's ten minutes ago, and it didn't take long to pick out Isla Mae in the crowd. She looked fucking gorgeous—with her little skirt paired with that low v-cut tank top, lace decorating the edges. Her nipples pebbled beneath the thin fabric, drawing the eye of every man in the damn room.

I watched her dance with this stranger for a few minutes, red lining the edges of my vision every time his hands drifted too low on her ass. When his lips brushed hers in a sloppy, unpracticed kiss. It took every ounce of restraint in my body to stay back.

Until she tried to pull away from him, and the fucker didn't let her go.

I didn't think, only acted. The blood roared in my ears, drowning out the chaos surrounding me as rushed to reach my Isla Mae's side. I arrived just as she slipped from the man's bruising grip and stumbled backward. Right into my arms.

And I didn't plan on letting her go. No fucking chance.

"Dude, let go of her," the dark-haired man ordered, stepping forward as if he planned on grabbing Isla by the arm again. Anger flared wild in his drunken eyes.

She flinched away from his hand at the same moment I drew her closer, nestling her against my side. I wrapped one arm around her waist, fingers curling into a fist atop her hip bone. My other hand furled and unfurled into a fist by my side, itching to take this asshole out.

It'd be easy. Judging from the way he dressed and wore his hair in styled swoops, the man was a hipster tourist. If I had to guess, he was touring Colorado in the back of a van that his parent's paid for, yet still booked hotel rooms two or three times a week to shower and sleep on a real bed. I'd drag him out of the bar by the stupid necklace around his neck—

"Heath?" Isla slurred, peering up at me with a goofy smile on her pink lips. "What're you doin' here? I thought... I told you not to come!"

"Jesus," I grumbled, taking my eyes off of the hipster-tourist just long enough to tuck a stray strand of blonde behind Isla's ear. "You're drunk, sweetheart."

She giggled, and something in my chest tightened at the melodic sound. I needed to get her home. Safe.

"Yepp... But is' okay because we were about to go back to..." She paused, narrowed her eyes at the hipster-tourist, and laughed again. "Heh, I forgot his name. We were going back to what's-his-name's hotel."

I stiffened.

The world around us went quiet, like everything and everyone slowed down. I inhaled once, drawing a deep breath to quell the sudden fire roiling hot in my chest, pumping through my veins in waves of anger.

We were going back to his hotel.

I saw red.

My eyes snapped to the hipster-bastard, who scowled like I'd stolen his favorite toy on the playground. He crossed his arms, utterly oblivious to the danger he now faced. "I don't know what your problem is, but it's like the chick said. We were just leaving—"