Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) by Cherise Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page B

being patient and all that shit. But she owed the deceptively easy-going sheriff a thank you for giving her an excuse to meet a local. It didn‘t usually take long to get to know who had information in a town, and who liked to talk. This was an excellent start.
    As she cracked peanuts and practiced patience, two of the truckers tossed several dollar bills onto their table and left.
    Vic drummed her fingers on the bar. Didn‘t anyone work in this joint?
    Finally a youngster hurried out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a white apron worn over faded jeans. Sun-colored hair and a British Isle‘s complexion, and—Vic frowned—no way was this kid over twenty-one. The girl checked the room, stopping to talk with the people by the fireplace
    The remaining trucker, a big man with a florid face, pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of effort. After a furtive glance at the underage waitress, he picked up the money left on the table and lurched toward the door.
    The girl looked at the table, and her mouth dropped open. ―Hey! You took my tips!‖ She ran after the trucker and circled to stand in front of him, a chihuahua confronting a rottweiler.
    He glared. ―Didn‘t do nothin‘.Get outta my way, kid.‖
    ―Give me back my money.‖ Hands on hips, the girl had the bravado of a child who‘d never been seriously hurt.
    That kid was about to learn a really hard lesson. Vic scowled as she eased off the bar stool and crossed the room. And how dumb was this? She hadn‘t even healed up from the last fight.
    The bastard actually swung at the girl.
    Almost too late, Vic slammed her forearm into his, knocking his punch to one side. The kid squeaked in shock and back-pedaled quickly. ‘Bout time.
    So. Stand down and let him go? Naw, letting the asshole steal from a baby didn‘t sit right.
    ―Give the kid back her money, and your afternoon won‘t be ruined,‖ Vic said softly.
    ―Get the fuck out of my way, or I‘ll smash your face.‖ He waved a beefy fist at her.
    Vic pushed the little girl farther away and out of the field of fire. Across the room, the other bar occupants were moving to assist.
    She didn‘t need or want help. ―Oooo, now I‘m scared.‖
    His face turned beet red as his anger overcame his brain—whatever brain he had. Probably not much bigger than his dick. He let out a roar and swung.
    Perfect. Vic moved six inches.
    His fist hit the door. ―Fuck!‖ Shaking his hand, he reeled back.
    While he was distracted, Vic plucked the money out of his undamaged hand. After opening the door, she stood in the opening, waving the dollar bills tauntingly.
    He lunged at her. ―Bitch, you‘re gonna—‖
    That widdle brain probably couldn‘t think of a word nasty enough, Vic figured, and she moved out of the way again. Well, almost out of the way. She did happen to stick her foot out.
    And maybe lift it a little to improve the guy‘s dive.
    What a great dive. Face first into the pavement. ―Ouch,‖ Vic said sympathetically, leaning on the open door. ―I bet that hurt.‖
    ―Yes, I would assume it did,‖ said a deep, cold voice next to her.
    Her hands coming up in a defensive move, Vic spun to face the man. Black clothing, leanly muscular, chiseled features, forbidding expression. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Deadly. She hadn‘t even heard him approach. Dammit, nobody moved that quietly.
    He eased two steps back. ―Pardon me. I was simply admiring your work. Bloody fine job.‖
    Vic was taken in by the calm tone until she met his gaze. His pupils were black with fury.
    ―Well. Thank you.‖ A little unnerved, she turned to check the trucker, but he was alive although staggering.
    The girl peeked out of the door, saw her assailant retreating, and grabbed Vic around the waist for a hug. As her ribs threatened to cave in, Vic managed not to scream—somehow—
    though the world spun like a top.
    ―Oh, thank you! I was, like, really, really scared,‖ she babbled as Vic tried to escape. The girl had a grip like a