The room went silent.
At first, Naomi thought she had misheard. Then she saw the expressions around the table. No one laughed. No one moved.
Dean frowned. “You’re drunk.”
Travis smirked. “One night with my wife. Debt cleared.”
Naomi felt the air leave her lungs.
“What did you just say?” she asked.
Travis turned to her with that sloppy, cruel grin. “Go work off my debt, you stupid hen.”
Before she could step back, he grabbed her arm hard enough to hurt and shoved her toward the hallway. A few guests stood, startled, but too stunned—or too cowardly—to act. Dean rose and said, “Travis, stop.”
But Travis had already pushed Naomi into the guest bedroom and flung the door open as if he were handing over property.
Naomi stumbled, catching herself on the dresser. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it. Dean stood in the doorway, his face stripped of any amusement—only grim now.
