"You shouldn’t have come here, Monica."

Evan was so drunk that he slurred his speech.

"I go where I please," she replied.

His current state of inebriation made him unattractive. On a good day, women thought he was so good looking that they would throw themselves at him. Surprisingly, Monica had even witnessed his influence over women when they were on dates together. As far as Monica knew, Evan had never been a cheater. He was just a guy who had lost his way, but he seemed to resist every opportunity to get his life back on track. Even now, he was making an utter fool of himself. He never could handle his liquor and had clearly had one too many drinks.

"Were you following me? Huh?" he asked.

"Hell no," she replied. "I came with a friend. I didn't even know you would be here. If I did, I would've avoided this place like the plague."

When she first saw Evan stumbling around on the dance floor a few minutes ago, Monica couldn't believe her eyes. She almost wished that he hadn't seen her, but she had stared across the room so hard trying to figure out if the drunken fool had, in fact, been Evan that he must have sensed it. He had caught her gaze and then separated himself from the girl he was rubbing up on to come over to her. She actually felt sorry for him when she had asked him if he was okay. What she should've done was run in the opposite direction. Now she wondered if he'd taken her kindness out of context. Somehow he'd pinned her into a small corner of the room.

"So you admit that you're avoiding me? I've called you almost every week but you won't answer your phone," he complained. "I thought we would stay friends."

"You don't need to call me every week. I'm perfectly fine. I'm living with my dad."

"And hows that working out for ya?" Evan took another gulp of his beer, looking down at her as if he expected her to whine about having to move back in with a parent.

"It's working out great. I haven't been stressed in months."

"Is that so? Since we've both had a little break away from each other, how about this…why don't we kick it like old times? Remember how we used to fuck in the car behind the country club at those boring ass functions? I miss that. I wish we—"

"You're such a pig!" She pushed on his chest. "Just forget you ever saw me. And I hope you're not driving."

"No…I'm not driving. Promise. There was this slut I met at a party down the street…I came with her. Don't know where the hell she is now. I'd rather go home with you anyway."

He placed a finger against her cleavage and she slapped his hand away. This time she broke free from the corner, but he followed her anyway.

"Monica, please…things aren't the same. I know I've been acting weird lately. I was supposed to pass the bar the first time around and I didn't. I lost the position the firm had lined up for me."

"That's your problem. And instead of working on the issue, this…" she held her arms up "…is what you do."

"You're not a saint either. What the hell are you doing here anyway? Only the town sluts who want to get fucked hang out here. Trust me…I know. And the way you're wearing that tight little dress, it looks like you're looking for the same thing. If you needed sex all you had to do was give me a ring." He grinned.

Monica looked at him in disgust. What did she ever see in him? He was rude and mouthy, but he'd never been this degrading to women. One thing was sure, he certainly didn't know how to hold his liquor at all. He was a complete mess and it wasn't her responsibility to look out for him anymore. She'd called it off with him months ago. Why was she even standing here?

She couldn't bear talking to him in his current state. Heck, she couldn't bear talking to him at all. It was why she'd been avoiding his calls. He'd changed over the past year, stressing over his screw-ups so badly that it effected everyone around him.

"By the way, that girl you just left is scowling at me from across the room, it's obvious what you came here to do," Monica told him. "Just forget that we ever saw each other. Now if you don't mind, you're in my space," she told him.

Evan grabbed her painfully by the wrist and slammed the back of her hand into the wall. "No, you won't be going anywhere. You think you can just get away with what you want because you're daddy's little angel. Newsflash, you're a whore just like the rest of these cock-sucking sluts."

The people around them were oblivious to what was really going on. The crowd was thick and everyone was dancing or engaged in other side conversations. For the casual passerby, it probably just looked like they were a couple. If she ran to one of the bouncers or screamed for help, this would end terribly. Evan was already a wrecked soul as it was. If he got locked up one more time for misconduct and inappropriate behavior, it was likely that no law firm worth their weight in gold would ever hire him. His daddy's money could only go so far. Bail him out maybe. But erase his criminal record and buy him a new reputation? No way.

Monica tried to wring her arm free. "If you don't get your hands off of me…"

"If I don't get my hands off you, then what will you—"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence. A dark figure—a man—appeared behind them. The man threw Evan backward into the crowd. His body flew across the dance floor where he collided with a metal beam.

Monica hadn't even realized Evan had gripped her about the wrist so hard until she felt her skin tingling where his fingers had dug into her flesh. But she didn't care about the pain. When the man who had thrown Evan some twenty feet across the floor revealed himself, all tension and discomfort left her body. The man who she never thought she'd see again stepped out of the shadows into the strobe lights.

"Deacon," she mouthed.

His moonlight blue eyes were filled with confusion, and his face was still riddled with something akin to anger.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think so. Thank you for doing that."

Deacon picked up a drawstring sack from off the floor. He must have dropped it to throw Evan across the room. His arms were bare just like last time, but no wet clothing stuck to him like a glove. He now sported what looked like a few days' growth of beard, giving him a more serious edge. Under the glow of the strobe lights, her gaze ran across his skin and landed on a faint mark on his left forearm that she hadn't seen before. The mark didn't look like any of the man-made tattoos on the rest of him. She'd seen the mark before. It resembled something that had recurred in her dreams the past few nights. As she glanced at it, she experienced a sensation akin to deja-vu. A vision of a male with sandy brown hair and midnight blue eyes carrying a hummingbird feeder. But that was absurd. Why would she be thinking of this in the middle of a nightclub?

"What are you doing in this place?" he asked, jolting her from her train of thought.

Monica looked up at him. "Um…"

He rubbed briefly at the distinct mark on his forearm while waiting on her answer. Maybe it was just a bruise.

"A friend and I were invited here," she stated, looking around at her surroundings.

There was so much attention on her now, she couldn't stand it. Even the crowd had parted around them. Evan wasn't on the ground anymore, he had gotten up and limped right back toward them.

"Hey asshole," Evan said, and then clapped his hand on Deacon's shoulder and tried to spin Deacon around. Deacon held his stance like a granite statute rooted to the floor.

"Hey," Evan continued, pushing aggressively on Deacon's left shoulder. "You did not just fucking interru—"

Deacon moved with lightning fast strength. He turned around, grabbed Evan by the neck, and then body-slammed him into the wall right beside Monica. Evan's and Monica's shoulders were only inches from touching. She could literally feel the fear rolling off Evan in waves. The warning growl that came next belonged to Deacon.

"If you touch her again under any circumstances…and I mean, under any circumstances, I'll tear out your goddamned throat," Deacon warned. "You understand?"

Evan's only reply was a grunt and a gurgle. His feet were off the ground as Deacon held him flat against the wall. Deacon's forearms were the size of thick logs. All taut skin and lean muscles. It looked like Deacon could've bench pressed five times Evan's weight with the way he was holding the guy up in the air like a skimpy snake—with only one hand.

The blood drained from Evan's face and neck, and three bouncers raced to the scene, ordering Deacon to release Evan.

As soon as Deacon let Evan go he leaned over and hurled up the contents of his stomach. Evan ran off through the crowd with a bouncer on his tail. The other two stayed behind to question Deacon about what happened. He recounted almost to the "T" what he witnessed.

The bouncer turned to her for confirmation. "Is this all true?"

"Yes it is. Evan's normally not like this. I tried to push him off, but he's drunk out of his mind," she replied.

A beeping sound came from the two-way radios of one of the bouncers. He stepped off to the side to answer the page.

"The incident has been documented. Would you both be willing to give statements after tonight if needed?" the remaining bouncer asked.

"That's fine," Deacon said.

"I guess so," Monica replied.

The bouncer took their names, clipped his radio back to his belt, and then said, "Deacon, you know the drill. You gotta get out of here, buddy."

"No problem. I was headed that way before I saw that creep manhandling a woman," Deacon said.

"Ugh…" The bouncer who had moved off to the side to answer a page on his radio came back. "I think it's a little too late for that. Roy says the dude ran into the bathroom and then called the cops. They're on their way right now."

Monica's heart dropped low in her belly. She shook her head. "No, he didn't…he couldn't have called the police. He's the one who instigated this mess."

"You need to tell that to the cops when they get here. I don't know what relation you have to your other friend, but he's in the club right now crying about how the wolf nearly killed him," Bouncer number one told her.

"Shit! We can't have the police in here again. We already have one strike for the last incident. Leo will be pissed," Bouncer number two said, and then he turned to Deacon and said, "If you're gonna run, you need to get the hell out of here now."

"Run? What for?" Deacon frowned. "I did nothing wrong. Besides, I'm just as good as screwed. Better I stay here than have Leo or anyone else answering for my actions."

"Deacon, I'm so sorry," Monica said.

"None of this is your fault. If that punk had kept his hands to himself, none of this would've happened. I did what I did and I'd do it again."

When the cops arrived, most everyone stopped mingling and dancing to cast curious glances their way. Even Brianna came running out of nowhere.

"Monica, what happened?" she asked.

"I can't talk right now," Monica said, anxiously, looking on in horror as the cops ushered Deacon through the crowd and toward the door.

Deacon turned around. "You go home. Don't put yourself in danger tonight. Go home."

“But Deacon…"

The thick crowd made it difficult for her to keep up with him and the cops.

"Monica! Answer me," Brianna demanded. "What just happened?"

"Evan's here. He cornered me and Deacon came over to help."

"Who's Deacon? And where are you going?"

"Brianna, no time to talk."

Monica slipped off her stilettos and shoved her way through the throng of people and out the door where two cop cruisers had pulled up alongside the entrance. In addition to Deacon and the bouncer recounting what happened, Evan was being aided for having a bloodied and bruised noise. Monica hadn't even remembered Deacon hitting Evan. Had Evan done this to himself? She had a sick feeling in her stomach and if she hadn't held off on eating before Brianna picked her up earlier, she probably would've been hurling on the ground.

Monica approached the cops, intent on making this right.

"Is this the girl he had hemmed up against the wall?" the cop asked.

"Yup," the bouncer said.

"Ma'am, what's your name?"

"It's Monica Collins. Officer, please don't hold this against Deacon, he was only helping me. As you can see, Evan's the one who's clearly had too much to drink," she stated.

The cop put his hands on his hips. "He's also the one with a busted nose. Did you see the whole thing?"

"Yes. Deacon never punched him. If Evan is saying otherwise, that's a lie."

Evan ran up just as she was finished giving her statement and screamed, "You lying whore! This is a cheating bitch. Don't believe her. Those two dogs have probably fucked her and they must have pumped her full of lies to tell on me."

Deacon stepped out in front of Monica and growled at Evan. The sound of it wasn't something just any old human could make. This was pure animal. Pure rage. Deacon's rage.

"Did you forget what I told you in there?" Deacon asked between clenched teeth. "Do you think I give a fuck that the cops are standing here? You do or say anything else to hurt her and I'll pound your face so hard on this ground, you'll suffer from more than just a little nose bleed."

Evan backed up a full six to eight feet.

"Alright, alright," the cop intervened. "That's enough from the both of you."

"You're damned right, that's enough. I wanna press charges," Evan shouted.

"No!" Monica exclaimed. "You do not get to press charges on a man that came to my defense."

"Monica." Deacon shook her head. "It's okay. Don't get yourself upset over this. I've got this."

"Deacon, this wasn't supposed to happen," she said. "All I wanted to do was find you. I didn't know he'd be here."

"All things happen for a reason." He handed her the drawstring bag he'd been holding on to all along. "Hold this for me, okay? I'd rather you keep it than check it into the jail."

"The jail…?" she mumbled, reluctantly accepting his bag of belongings. "This is unfair."

"Alright, that's enough. Let's get going, son," the cop interjected.

"Our time is always cut short," she said, frowning. "I wanted to ask you about the hummingbirds."

His expression stilled and grew serious. "You know about the hummingbirds?"

"I…" Her mind reeled with confusion and she sighed with exasperation. Of all the things she wanted to tell him and to thank him for, she had to go and mention the damn birds instead. “Look, I’m so confused. Where can I find you?"

Deacon half laughed. "After this, do you really want to find me?"

Monica swallowed hard, disturbed at the thought of not seeing him again. "Of course."

"I'll find you. Go now and let me take care of this," he said firmly.

"Come on, son," the cop urged. "You could have talked about some damn birds peacefully inside instead of punching dude in the face. You know who he is, right?"

"I don't care who he is," Deacon grumbled. "If you're gonna arrest me, arrest me. I choose to remain silent."

The cop pushed Deacon toward his cruiser.

Evan crossed his arm over his chest. "Yeah, let's see how you take care of these assault charges." He had a nasty frown on his face.

"Actually Sir, we're gonna have to take both of you in," the cop told Evan. "He needs to answer some more questions. And you're drunk off your ass disturbing the peace. You'll be charged as well."

"No, the fuck I won't. My daddy’s the judge! I have lawyers…" Evan's protests went on and on as the cop dragged him toward the cruiser and shoved him in the back seat.

Deacon, on the other hand, went willingly. He showed no fear. And it seemed he had no remorse for what he'd done.

Monica felt terrible. She brought her palms up to cover her face and blew outward in frustration.

What had just happened? How was she going to make this right?