“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Where the fuck is Holbrook? I wondered, craning my neck to look around Max, hoping to catch a glimpse of my agent in shining armor striding out of the bathroom to come to my rescue.
“Sure you do. So, did you have any idea he was a psycho while you were boning him?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” I demanded, the words leaving my mouth before I could even think to stop them. The mother a few tables away frowned at me, muttering something about bad manners. I wanted to flip her the bird, but didn’t dare take my attention off my would-be admirer for that long.
“Did it turn you on knowing he was gutting those girls?” Max asked, refusing to leave me alone.
“No, it didn’t. Samson Reed is a sick bastard and he deserves to rot in hell for what he did to me and those other women,” I hissed, finally responding to one of his questions with something other than outright denial.
Wrong choice.
Rather than satisfying his twisted curiosity, my reply appeared to just encourage him. Leaning further into my personal space he leered at me, his gaze travelling from my face down to my breasts where it lingered for an uncomfortably long period of time before rising back up to my face. The whole exchange left me feeling like I needed a shower, and possibly some bleach.
Fucking perv.
“Did he tell you about it? Did he describe what it felt like when he gutted those girls while he was fucking you?”
“I’ve gotta go.”
Grabbing my jacket I tried to get up from the table and found my way blocked by my new groupie. Behind him his friend was rising from their table, his eyes alight with menace. He was bigger than he’d looked sitting down; he easily had five or six inches on me, and had to outweigh me by at least seventy-five pounds.
Crap on a cracker.
“Why don’t you come have some fun with me and Ted, girlie? We’ll show you a better time than Reed ever could.”
“Look, I don’t know you or what your problem is, but you need to get the hell out of my way.”
His fingers flexing at his sides, Max stepped into my path and sneered at me, baring crooked, nicotine stained teeth as he said, “You’re not going anywhere.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Sidestepping around him, I hadn’t gone more than a few steps before a grimy hand grasped my arm, pulling me back around to face him. The rough motion made pain lance through my ribs, bringing a hissing breath to my lips.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I growled, wrenching my arm free of his grip, baring my teeth at him in a snarl.
I saw the first clumsy swing coming from a mile off and sidestepped out of his reach, his momentum carrying him forward into the edge of the table. I barely had a chance to register that he’d spilled my milkshake before he straightened and came at me again, his buddy Ted continuing to hang back, presumably waiting his turn to rough me up.
Looks like I pissed in everybody’s Wheaties this morning.
A shocked cry came from the woman a few tables over, her arms wrapping around her children, sheltering them against her chest.
“What’s going on?” the acne faced teenager asked, approaching us with the immortal surety of the young.
“Stay out of this, asshole,” Max snarled.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the teenager said, puffing up his chest in a show of authority, though the crack in his voice lessened the effect.
I didn’t even have time to blurt out a warning before Max was swinging at the poor kid, catching him on the temple and making him crumple to the floor. It was at that point that the woman’s toddler began to scream bloody murder and the old ladies by the door cried out in horror. A shit storm was brewing, and—as seemed to be happening so often lately—I was at its epicenter. Lucky me.
Using Max’s momentary distraction to my advantage, I kicked out at his knee, my feeling of triumph at his wail lost beneath my own grunting breath.
I’m so not up for this crap.
I’m no Bruce Lee, and while the lycanthropy has been able to counteract a lifetime of Oreos and coffee, it didn’t automatically change me into a kung-fu master. I wouldn’t have known how to fight my way out of a wet paper sack, let alone fend off someone intent on kicking my ass. So far I’d evaded Max and Ted through pure luck and adrenaline alone, but I was tiring, and my injuries were starting to make themselves known again, making me slow and clumsy.