His Unveiled Passion novel Chapter 200

Quentin's expression wasn't much better. His molars were practically grinding to dust. "Unbelievable! Naomi actually had the nerve to hire male escorts!"

Stephen's gaze darkened as he watched Tessa with a drink in one hand, the other running over one of the models' chiseled pecs.

The lingering taste of tequila mixed with the lime's sour tang and the burn of hard liquor still clung to his mouth, and suddenly, even the air seemed to turn sour.

He couldn't watch any longer. With a sharp motion, he shot to his feet, the sudden movement startling Quentin beside him. "Stephen, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking her home."

Quentin grabbed his arm. "Calm down. You can't show up right now. If James has any eyes in this bar, then everything you sacrificed—almost dying just to break up—will have been for nothing."

Stephen clenched his fists, fully aware of the logic.

Not far away, Tessa's laughter rang out, sweet as blooming flowers. The men surrounding her were practically falling over themselves to impress her, while Naomi cheered them on with drunken delight.

Stephen's face turned gloomier as he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, Quentin suddenly bolted from the booth, leaving a chill in his wake.

Following his gaze, Stephen spotted Naomi, drunk and swaying as she leaned against one of the models' sculpted chests, her face flushed with intoxicated bliss.

Seeing Quentin storm over, Stephen quickly moved to a spot outside Tessa's line of sight so that he would not be recognized.

Meanwhile, Naomi was still snickering against the handsome model's chest when her body was yanked into a warmer, firmer embrace.

Before she could react, Quentin threw a punch that landed squarely on the escort's cheek. "Get lost!"

The escort staggered back from the impact, fury flashing across his face as he instinctively raised a fist to retaliate. But one of his colleagues grabbed his arm and held him back tightly. "Don't be impulsive!"

Half-sobered by the shock, Naomi gasped and stumbled forward, instinctively reaching out to check on the escort. "Hey, you okay, sweetheart?"

The model's face was twisted in anger, his neck and cheeks flushed red as he glared daggers at Quentin.

"I'm so sorry! Here—let me cover your medical expenses." Naomi quickly rummaged through her purse and pulled out a few banknotes before stuffing them into the escort's hands. "Sorry, this is all the cash I've got. I'll tip you an extra 500 later, okay?"

Quentin let out a dry, bitter laugh. "And how exactly am I supposed to talk to you when you're busy snuggling up to strangers? Naomi, is this what your mom taught you?"

"None of your damn business! Who do you think you are—my brother?" She struggled to break free from his grasp, but he held her firmly.

Quentin was unwilling to let go. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion!"

Before long, the bar manager arrived in a hurry after hearing about the commotion. He was prepared to kick the troublemakers out and even brought a few bouncers with him. But the moment he spotted Quentin, his attitude did a complete 180.

He approached with an ingratiating smile. "Mr. Taylor, what seems to be the problem?"

Quentin's expression was as dark as a storm, and his eyes gleamed with suppressed fury as he curled his lips into a cold, humorless smile. "What kind of establishment are you running here? Are you providing soft-core escort services now?"

The manager paled instantly, panic flashing across his face. "N-No, My. Taylor! Not at all! You must be mistaken. We're a legitimate bar, strictly aboveboard!"

"Oh yeah?" Quentin's gaze sliced toward the row of male escorts. "Then, what were they doing?"