Dirty Together (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #3)(6)


by Meghan March

“Another shot, Holly?” someone calls.

I hold my arm out, making a thumbs-up sign. And that’s when I hear a familiar deep voice say, “I think you’ve had enough, my dear.”

You know what plays havoc with a man’s ego? Having a wife who has walked out on him twice. Luckily, my ego is big enough to handle it. But these detective missions to find out where my wife has run off to are getting a little old.

Listening to her sing, however, will never get old. I stand at the back of the crowd in the karaoke bar of the bowling alley and get my first look at Holly on the stage where she found the courage to chase her dream.

She’s fucking magnificent, and I’m far from the only person in the crowd to think so. These people, who she probably claims as her people, are in awe of her talent. Which they should be.

When the last note fades away, I move through the crowd, making my way to the stage. I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I don’t think it really matters. My being here should send a message all of its own.

“Another shot, Holly?” someone yells over the now cheering crowd, but Holly is bent over at the waist, trying to catch her breath—something I’ve never seen her do onstage. It appears my wife has had plenty of shots tonight.

Conscious of all the cameras flashing, I make an executive decision and step up to the stage. “I think you’ve had enough, my dear.”

Her head jerks up and she meets my eyes. “That’s not your call,” she says, her words slurring.

“It is tonight. We’re leaving.”

“I’m not going back to New York. Not now.”

I stiffen at her adamant statement. “I think we should save that discussion for when you’re sober.”

“Fine. But I’m not done.”

She grabs the microphone from the stand and calls out, “How about one more?”

The crowd roars.

“Let’s take it back to some classic Reba!” Holly yells. “I’ve got a craving for a little something ‘Fancy.’”

The crowd roars again, this time to a deafening volume. The music starts to play, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the song, but I’ve never really listened to the lyrics before. But when Holly sings them, they sink into me one line at a time.

Everything she’s said about her mother and running off with men who have enough money to take care of her for a little while comes filtering back into my brain. This song is a message to me, and I think I’m hearing it loud and clear.

What I don’t know is how the hell I’m going to get through to her that she isn’t just some kind of ornament in my life. She is my life.

Holly isn’t a woman who will be swayed by words. I know that now. She needs me to show her. And guess what? That I can fucking do.

Her clear, stunning voice carries the last note for what seems like forever, and the bar thunders with applause and cheering. This time I don’t wait. I step closer, swing her up into my arms, and jump down off the stage.

“What are you—?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not going—”

“To your home, Holly.”

“Oh.”

Her arms twine around my neck, and she holds on tight while I maneuver us through the crowd and out of the bar, into the lobby of the bowling alley.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance back.

It’s a guy. A big guy.

“She’s done for tonight,” I tell him. “You can get her autograph another time, man.”

“If I wanted her autograph, I would’ve gotten it when I picked her up tonight.”

Everything in me stills.

“Logan, it’s okay—” Holly starts.

I don’t even wait for her to finish her sentence. I turn and walk for the doors.

As soon as she said his name, a seething possessiveness shredded my better judgment. I have to get out of here before I put her down and take this guy on in a way that he’ll understand—with my fists, until one or both of us are bleeding. I’m hoping, if he has any sense, he’ll stay inside.

But I hear the heavy booted footsteps behind me as I carry Holly outside to my rental.

“You ain’t just coming in here and carrying her out without me hearing from Holly’s lips that she wants to go with you.”

I left the car unlocked, figuring that no one was going to steal it. I grab the door handle and rip it open before depositing Holly inside and slamming it shut.

She yells something, but I slide my hand into my pocket and hit the Lock button before she can open it. In her drunken state, it’ll take her a few moments to figure out how to unlock the fucking thing. Thank you, Cadillac.

I turn and face Logan. “Apparently I’m at a disadvantage, because you know who I am, but I’m pretty sure Holly has never mentioned anyone named Logan.”

He crosses his bulky arms over his chest. He might have thirty pounds on me, but I’m used to sparring with Cannon. And there’s the added factor of me being riled the fuck up and defending my claim to my woman. I’m not afraid to bleed to make a point.

“I ain’t tryin’ to get between a husband and wife—” he starts.

“Then turn around and head back inside.”

He continues as if I didn’t speak. “But I also don’t believe in letting a woman I brought somewhere leave with another man.”

I flex my hands and curl them into fists. “Well, you sure as fuck aren’t leaving with her tonight. So you’re going to have to put that belief on ice.” Even in the dimly lit parking lot, I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. “If you’re looking to stake a claim on a woman, I suggest you pick one who’s available.”

He smirks. “The only reason you had a shot at her is because I didn’t stake a claim.”

“Then you missed your shot. The next time we’re in town, I’ll buy you a beer to thank you. Right now, I’d like to get my wife home before she pukes in my rental car.” I say the word wife with undeniable emphasis and satisfaction.

“Seems to me a man with a wife like that should learn how to keep a hold on her a little better.”

The words aren’t that far off from what Boone said when he ripped me a new asshole several hours ago in Nashville.

“You better not keep doing shit that sends her running, or you’re gonna fuckin’ lose her for good,” was Boone’s redneck wisdom.