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  The door in back of the van suddenly swung open, a man wearing tighty-whities falling out. With the rest of his clothes clutched against his chest, he sprinted past Ryanne and down the street. The alleged prostitute--blonde, pale and thin, with wide eyes full of fear--remained inside and shut the door.

  "You okay in there?" Ryanne called.

  Silence.

  Cigarette took a menacing step toward Ryanne. "Stop! Anything happens to me, and the world will know who's responsible." As a tremor swept through her, the phone fell from her grip and thudded on the concrete. Crap! At least she still had her gun.

  "We know who you are, and we know the cops hate your guts. They'll blame you if anything happens to us," he replied.

  How did he know about her fears?

  Thumping footfalls sounded in the distance, growing closer by the second. She tensed, unsure what was about to happen, when--

  Jude appeared in front of the vehicles, his hands balled like sledgehammers. He squared his shoulders and braced his legs apart, his posture rigid. A pre-combat stance. He wasn't panting, but he was making some kind of low growling noise, as if he were a rabid animal who'd finally found a meal.

  Commando likes the taste of blood. And oh, wow, she liked this side of him. In the moonlight, he was a god. A warrior without equal.

  Still, her tension spiked. If he were hurt...

  To her astonishment, Cigarette and Snake immediately backed up. Cigarette slid into the sedan, and Snake climbed behind the wheel of the van. All without a word. One after the other, the vehicles shot out of the parking lot.

  Ryanne lunged forward, intending to follow. On foot? Idiot! But the girl...

  Jude latched on to her wrist, keeping her in place. "Don't," he snapped. "You'll only get yourself killed."

  Was he mad at her?

  No, no. Couldn't be. He was mad at the world. Always.

  She swiped up her phone, intending to dial 911. Instead, she paused. "Who are they? Were they selling that girl?"

  "They work for a man named Martin Dushku, and yes. They were selling that girl. Have been for the past two weeks."

  The answers hit her like twin jabs to the gut. Why would Mr. Dushku sell a girl on her property rather than his own?

  To blame Ryanne and get her shut down? Why not call the cops on her, then?

  Maybe he only wanted to scare her so she'd sell?

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded. "And why didn't you call the cops? We need to help that girl."

  "I know all about your history with the Blueberry Hill PD. And I was handling it. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

  Had he tried and failed? "Clearly you weren't handling it well enough."

  Malice radiated from him as he bared his teeth. The fact that they were straight and white made him no less intimidating. "You know there are Eastern European gangs in Texas, right? I dealt with them when I lived in Midland. They've migrated into Oklahoma, and like I said, the two assholes you threatened work for Martin Dushku, the guy building a club across the street. He isn't known for his sharing and caring but his fervor to own everything. He'll try to force you to sell or shut you down, whichever comes first."

  Gang members? Here? No freaking way.

  Maybe Mr. Dushku wasn't involved at all. He might have been a little creepy when he offered to buy her out, but he hadn't been pushy. "How do you know this?" she asked, one brow arched. "Let's face it. You could have arranged this little show in an attempt to scare me into hiring you."

  He stepped toward her, far more dangerous than Cigarette or Snake, and yet she wasn't afraid. "I don't want your business, Ryanne. I'll never be your biggest fan, and I despise your bar. Frankly, I'd rather let it burn to the ground. If you weren't friends with my friends, I would. And I know about Dushku because I investigate everyone who moves to my town."

  She believed him. One thing she couldn't doubt--his loyalty to his friends, Brock Hudson and local hero Daniel Porter. The three had served in the military together, and had each other's backs without fail.

  And she wasn't hurt by Jude's I'll never be your biggest fan crack. The man had terrible taste.

  "I'm sorry," she said, fear suddenly clawing at her insides. A gang had come to Oklahoma, and the leader wanted her bar. Her home.

  She'd taken care of Earl here. Happy memories abounded. If something happened...

  Who was she kidding? Something would happen. Martin Dushku and his associates were bad people, willing to do bad things. What if they hurt her patrons, innocent people who'd done nothing wrong?

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she sheathed her gun and extended a shaky hand to Jude. "Congratulations, Mr. Laurent. You're hired."

  Can't Let Go is available now on Amazon

  About the Author

  Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of the spellbinding Lords of the Underworld, Otherworld Assassins, and highly addictive Original Heartbreakers series, as well as two young adult series--Everlife and the White Rabbit Chronicles. She's hard at work on her next novel, a tale featuring a beastly prince and the woman he will wage war to keep. You can learn more about Gena, her menagerie of rescue dogs, and all her upcoming books at the following locations:

  Website: www.genashowalter.com

  Facebook: Facebook.com/genashowalterfans

  Twitter: @genashowalter

  Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/GenaShowalter/e/B001I9RQQ8