He lightens his hold; I have the brief flash of hope, until I feel his hand painfully cup my crotch. That’s all it takes for my body to go rock solid and the fear to invade again. It’s like Brandon all over again.
“Did the little bitch decide to stop playing so hard to get? Going to take it like a good whore?” He brings his hand up and grips my waistband before giving a hard tug and tossing my body on the floor.
The biting pain of my head hitting something solid seems to clear the fear that has begun to fog my mind. I look up at this nameless man, and all the things I wish I had done to Brandon come rushing to the surface.
“NO! Not this time!” I rush to my feet and charge at him. My nails scratch and claw at his face. My feet, legs, knees, anything that can make purchase, slam into his body. He grunts and blocks what he can, but I have the benefit of catching him unexpectedly. He never thought I would fight, but I have too much to lose to lie down and let him win. “You motherfucking fucker!”
I start moving as quick and as powerfully as I can, slamming into him with every limb. By the time he finally manages to push me roughly off of him, I’m breathing heavy and covered in blood. His blood. I let a smile curve my lips up when I think about how good it feels to fight. I’m not just fighting for Asher’s life and my own. No, I’m fighting for everything that this man and his employer have taken from us.
This is for Coop.
That’s the last thing to filter through my rage before I pick myself up and throw my body against his again. He manages a few hits, but he has nothing against me now. I have too much to lose, and too much keeping me fighting. My violent fury is almost a living, breathing thing.
I push hard against his chest, kick up and slam my foot into his crotch, and watch with satisfaction when he crashes against the floor. Right when I’m about to kick again and collide with his head, I’m jerked back. I can’t focus around the blood thirst. I want to kill that fucker with my own hands. Panting roughly, I finally place the scent that is surrounding me.
Beck.
My Beck is here.
“I’ve got you, Wildcat.”
And just like that, I sag against him and the fight drains from my body.
There are no words to describe how I feel when I walk up to my house and see the door wide open, Dee’s stuff mixed with a pool of milk, and the sounds of a fight coming from inside my house. I pull my gun from the holster at my side and start to step over the mess at my front door.
For as long as I live, I will never forget rushing through my house and finding my wildcat fighting with everything that she has in her against a man almost twice her size. I don’t even know what she’s saying; it’s all coming out in garbled, unrecognizable words. Before I can reach her, she brings her leg back and slams his crotch with one hell of a kick. She goes to kick him again, but I hook her by her waist and pull her to my body. The sense of relief I feel when her body is next to mine is unimaginable.
She is safe.
She is fighting.
And I’m going to kill this motherfucker!
“I’ve got you, Wildcat.”
Her body relaxes against mine. The adrenaline, the fight, falls from her body.
“I’ve got you.” I whisper again.
“Oh, God,” she sobs. “Asher!” She pulls herself from my hold, and I watch her run behind the bar and drop to the floor. I don’t have time to ask her if he’s okay, because I see this motherfucker that was trying to hurt my woman start to stand.
“I don’t fucking think so.” I don’t move my gun from his head when I call over my shoulder for Dee to call 911. “Who THE FUCK are you?”
He doesn’t move a muscle. Nothing, but his eyes narrow.
“I won’t ask you again. You came into my house, you touched MY woman, and I don’t even know what the hell you did to my friend. It won’t be hard to put a goddamn bullet through your fucking skull and work that in my favor, so do not fucking try me. Who. Are. You?”
His smile grows before he speaks “Nico Slater. Your woman is fucking delicious.”
He licks his lips and I don’t even have to think twice. I let off a round and smile when he is thrown back with the force of the bullet slamming into his shoulder.
“Don’t fuck with me.” I walk over to his withering body and stand over him, “Who do you work for?”
His lips press tightly and he looks away with a grimace.
“Answer me!”
He doesn’t say a word so I bring my booted foot up and press against his bleeding shoulder. The howl he lets out in pain brings a smile to my face.
I lean down and press my gun against his forehead. “Who. Do. You. Work. For?” With each word I speak, I tap his head with the barrel of my gun. He might be a tough little shit, but there isn’t anything more terrifying than having a loaded gun pointed at your head.
“Dominic Murphy.”
The fuck he says?