“Why don’t you come home with us, sweetheart?” the ringleader says, sliding an arm around my waist. “Don’t you want to be with someone that won’t make you lose your appetite?”
I start to put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but Paul is faster. The handsy jerk is on the ground, howling in pain, before he’s even registered what happened. Acting on instinct, I start to kneel down beside the writhing kid, but I freeze when I see the look on Paul’s face: ice-cold rage.
My hands are shaking when I straighten back up, although I’m not sure if it’s from feeling cornered by the frat boys or because of this violent, out-of-control side of Paul.
But that’s not quite right. Violent, yes. But not out of control. I think I’d prefer it if he was, because this Paul is a lethal machine.
The kid on the ground apparently realizes he’s not as injured as he initially thought, and with a sneer he starts to dive at Paul’s bad leg. Again, Paul is faster. With one hand he jerks the kid to his feet seconds before his other fist collides with the frat boy’s nose.
The cane clatters to the ground, forgotten, and the swagger slowly fades from the rest of the drunken kids’ faces.
“Paul,” I whisper.
But he’s not done.
“Apologize.” He leans down to where the ringleader is wiping his bloody nose.
“Fuck you, dude. You’re a freak.”
Paul gets closer. “Apologize to her.”
“Why?” the idiot says. “I didn’t do anything she didn’t want.”
My eyes narrow, but before I can tell this little twerp to learn some manners and get the hell out of Kali’s bar, one of his buddies finally finds his balls enough to defend his idiot friend and throws a punch at Paul’s stomach.
A mistake.
The next moments pass in a blur, and before I can tell the lot of them to get their testosterone under control, the fists start flying in every direction. A couple appear to connect with Paul, but for the most part he seems to dominate. Even outnumbered, a seasoned soldier is no match for beer-soaked kids.
Finally, finally they back off, one by one. The idiot ringleader looks like he wants to get in one last jab despite the bloody nose and soon-to-be black eye, but all he can manage is one more sneer and a muttered “Freak!” before he leads his band of drunken morons from the bar. As they walk by Paul, a few of them do that shoulder-to-shoulder jab that guys do, but Paul doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
Belatedly I realize that the entire bar has fallen silent. Everyone is staring. Paul doesn’t seem to notice that either.
I start to move toward Paul, but he cuts me with that ice-cold look before slowly bending down to pick up his cane.
He doesn’t use it as he walks away, but he’s limping. And although I’m dying to help him after what I’ve just dragged him into, the least I can do is let him walk out of here on his own. Reluctantly I let him go.
I close my eyes. Damn it.
Belatedly I realize we need to pay Kali, but when I look in her direction she gives a little shake of her head before waving me off. I owe her. She should be throwing us out, not paying our bill. But a quick look around shows that Kali’s not the only one on our side. A couple of other people catch my eye and give me a quick nod.
I realize then what I should have known all along: this is a small town. Paul may not let himself be friends with these people, but he’s one of them. For that, they let him have his moment.
I give a weak smile in gratitude as I follow Paul out into the night.
“Paul?” I call, looking around the half-empty parking lot.
I hear the chirp of his car as he unlocks, it, but he doesn’t look up.
“Paul!”
I move toward him, but the look he gives me is murderous and stone-cold. I stop in my tracks, my heart twisting at the sight of the blood on his face.
“I’ll come with you,” I say lamely.
Instead of answering he lowers himself into the driver’s seat and slams the door.
Thirty seconds later I’m standing alone in the middle of a deserted parking lot, wondering exactly how much damage I just did to an already broken soul.
Chapter Eighteen
Paul