I hit him again. And again.
The pull on my shirt intensifies. “Rex! Stop!” There’s a fear in her voice that settles deep in my gut, trading out my aggression for concern.
I push off the asshole biker and stand to feel Mac clinging to the back of my tee. The fog of rage dissipates. Shit, Mac.
I whirl around, breathing heavy. “Shit . . . are you . . . okay?”
She’s holding her cheek and there’s blood on her hand. My pulse rockets and propels me toward the tubby fuck.
Her grip on my shirt pulls tight. “Rex, no. Please. No more.”
She must be scared shitless, but it’s impossible to tell by looking at her. Nothing gives away what she’s thinking except for her hand still fisted tight into my shirt.
How can she be so calm after what that jackass did to her face? He started a fight in her driveway and threw a punch without even paying attention to where the fuck it landed.
My gut whirls with unease. This is just as much my fault as it is his. If I’d turned around and driven off like a *, none of this would’ve happened. Although, what would she have walked into tonight if I weren’t here? How often does she have to deal with this dipshit and his drunk ass?
I scrub my hand through my hair. This girl isn’t my business. But business or not, I need to make this right.
I peel her hand from my tee and take her to the passenger door of my truck. “Get in. Now.”
Her eyes grow wide over her hand that’s still holding her bleeding face. “I can’t. I . . . where are we going?”
“No clue. But I’m not leaving you here with this psycho.”
I look over to see Hatch now rolling around and moaning. Satisfaction swells in my chest.
“I’ll be okay.” She pulls her hand from mine.
“Get in the truck, Mac.”
“I—”
“Get in the motherfucking truck or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and put you in it!”
She jumps and scurries up into the passenger seat.
“Atta girl.” After she’s safely in the cab, I walk past a bloodied Hatchet and into her garage, hitting the button and running back to the truck. “Have a good night, fuckface.”
He flips me off.
I drive quickly out of the neighborhood and then pull over. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Grabbing the hem of my T-shirt, I pull it over my head and hand it to her. “Use this.”
She doesn’t take it from me. I swing my gaze to her and see her staring openly at my bare chest. Usually being studied like this makes me want to turn away, but there’s a longing in her eyes that draws me in. She absorbs me until I force myself back to the present. I blink hard. What the hell was that?
I shake the shirt at her and swallow past the whisper of arousal that dances through my blood. “Take it.”
Snatching it from my hand, she presses it against her face. “Thank you.” She drags her eyes up to my neck and settles at my face. I snag one end of the shirt and dab at a smudge of blood on her chin. She winces.
“I know it hurts.” The urge to continue cleaning her face is too strong. I drop my hand to my lap. “We should probably get you to the hospital—”
“No, please!” Terror flashes behind her light eyes. “No hospitals.”
“Shit, Mac.” She probably needs stitches. “There’s a lot of blood.”
Her free hand moves to the door handle. “I won’t go. I’ll run. I swear to God, if you take me to a hospital, I’ll—”
“Okay, okay, fine.” What the fuck is that all about? “I won’t take you.”
A long, deep breath and she relaxes. “Thanks, I um . . . sorry.”
It’s none of my business, but there’s something about this chick that makes me curious. I mean what kind of girl throws her body in front of a biker to protect a dude she hardly knows, but wants to cut and run at the mention of a hospital?
“You feel like telling me what that was all about?”
“I’m . . . afraid.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her.
Afraid. This girl?
Nothing I’ve seen from her yet points to her being anything but fearless. An irritating tick in the back of my mind reminds me of who I am. Live for a fight, the burn of a tattoo or pinch of a needle, yet I avoid the one thing in life most men can’t live without.
Yeah, I’m familiar with unreasonable fears. If she’s really afraid, then I don’t want to put her though more than she’s been through already. That only leaves one other option.
Anxiety pricks against my nerves. My chest gets tight, breathing shallow. “Okay, I’ll take you to my place. I have a first-aid kit.”
Fuckin’ shit! I throw the truck in drive.
This could possibly be a disaster.
*
Mac
Searing pain radiates through my cheek. Holding Rex’s T-shirt to my face, I inhale deeply, enjoying the smell of soap mixed with the salt of his clean sweat. The scent calms me enough so that I can replay in my head exactly what happened.