My hand balls into a shaking fist as I look around and realize every man in the place is staring at her. Ogling that hot little tush and adjusting themselves.
“Damn, is that really Amarie’s kid?” one of them says to his friend, smacking his lips. “She grew up nice.”
“Jesus, you’re not kidding. Too bad she isn’t poor or I’d be shelling out six figures for a ride of that.”
“Hell yeah, man. Twice on Sunday.”
They dissolve into laughter and the rage in my blood boils over. I push back from my table, upsetting my scotch and grip the closest asshole by his collar. “Watch your f*****g mouths,” I growl, yanking the offender to his feet, watching the color drain from his face when he sees who was within earshot. A family friend of the Amaries, yes, but also the man who could buy and sell the en
