“This isn't over,” she says through gritted teeth. “Not by a long shot, Liam. You are going to pay. Mark my words.”
“Leave. Now,” Greg says, the hostility in his voice growing. “And I think it'd be best if I don't see your face in my bar ever again.”
“Like I'd willingly come into this dump for a drink.”
She turns on her heel and storms out of the bar. I let out a long breath and shake my head. Yeah, this evening has really gone to shit.
“Thanks, Greg,” I say. “Appreciate the assist.”
He shrugs his large shoulders. “Never cared for her much anyway,” he says. “She seems to think she's above everybody.”
“That she does.”
I don’t realize he's holding a bottle of scotch until he reaches out and refills my glass. Clinking his bottle against the tumbler, he gives me a smile.
“This one's on the house too,” he says.
“I guess you're running a charity after all, huh?”
He laughs and turns away, heading back to the bar. I glance at my watch and decide it's time to go. I've had enough excitement – or at least, enough drama – for one night. I suddenly just want to get back to the helicopter and get home to my dog.
I drain my drink and throw a couple of hundred-dollar bills down on the table. After all, the man isn't actually running a charity.
“I'm taking off, Greg,” I say as I slip on my jacket. “Thanks for the drinks.”
“It was good seeing you, Liam,” he says. “Don't be a stranger. I mean it.”
I nod. “I won't.”
Stepping out into the chilly night air, I slip my hands into my pockets. It's a bit of a hike back to my office building, but I know of a shortcut that will get me there quickly. The walk combined with the crisp night air should give me the time I need to clear my head.
I head down the street and walk for about ten minutes before making a right and heading down an alley. My head is all twisted up with thoughts about Brittany and that whole scene in Grady's. I can't believe I almost gave in to her. Hell, there was a part of me that really wanted to.
Of course, it was the part that was in her hand. She'd always had that effect on me. She could always get what she wanted by using her sex appeal. She could always use sex to manipulate me. It was one of my weaknesses when it came to her. And it had almost worked to her advantage again.
Almost. The thought that had stopped me was Paige Samuels. And realizing that it was Paige who had given me pause was like a punch to the gut. I barely knew the woman. Sure, she is a gorgeous woman and I am definitely intrigued by her, but the fact that the mere thought of her could break the sexual spell Brittany held over me was something I wasn’t prepared for. It just seemed to come straight out of left field. It’s making my head spin.
I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't even realize there's somebody behind me until I hear the scuff of a shoe on the pavement. A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me as I spin around and find myself face-to-face with a man holding a knife. He's tall, well-built, and wearing a hoodie pulled down low over his face. I can't see his face.
But I see the knife. Can see the light glinting off the sharp edge of it. Wordlessly, the man lunges at me. It's a clumsy lunge, but it's quick. I grimace and let out a grunt as the blade slices through the arm of my jacket, slicing open the skin beneath. I feel the blood, warm and sticky, begin to flow down my arm, suddenly thankful for the jacket I had on since it absorbed the brunt of the cut.
I dodge to the side and square up as the man rounds on me. I used to be an athlete back in school, but I'm not a fighter and have no training. All I can really do is react to whatever he does. But, thankfully, it doesn't look like my attacker is a skilled fighter either. The smart thing to do would be to hand over my wallet since I'm sure that's what he's after. However, I'm not in the mood to do the smart thing.
A deep, dark anger rises up from within me, fueled by the frustration over everything that's happened over these last few months. As I stare at the man in the hoodie, trying to anticipate his next move, the fury in my heart and soul at what Brittany did to me suddenly boils over. And at that moment, I just want to hurt somebody.
The man lunges at me again, but this time I'm ready. I grab his knife hand with my left and drive my right hand straight into his face with every ounce of strength I can muster. I feel the bones give way beneath my fist. The man grunts and staggers backward. The knife falls to the ground with a clatter as the man clutches his face.
I take a step forward, my fists still clenched and the rage still burning a hole in my gut. The man surprises me by moving quickly. My head is rocked to the right by the man's fist slamming into my cheek. A beat later, the heat flares in my face as I register the pain of the blow. I'm knocked a couple of steps backward, my head spinning. The cheek where his fist landed hurts, but the pain only serves to fuel my rage.
Thinking to press his advantage, the man advances on me again. I spin toward him and grab the front of his sweatshirt. Using my size, I drive him backward, smashing him into the dumpster against the wall. He lets out a pained yelp as he makes impact with the steel bin.
Still gripping his sweatshirt, I rain down blows with my right hand, connecting with his face again and again. A strange wailing sound fills my ears and I think it's the man I'm beating, but I realize that sound is coming from me and it gives me a moment's hesitation. The sound is a scream of anguish. A scream of primal rage. It's the sound of all the anger and frustration that's built up within me.
The moment of pause in my beating gives the man the opening he needs. He drives his knee upward, connecting sharply with my balls. I grunt and double over as his knee comes up again, catching me in the face. I stagger backward as I feel the blood flowing from my nose down my face, the distinct taste of copper filling my mouth.
Lights flare in the alley and the man turns and flees into the darkness. A moment later, strobing red and blue lights slice through the night as the police cruiser drives up to where I'm standing. The two cops jump out of their cars, weapons in hand.
“Down on the ground,” one of the men calls out.
My anger surges once more. I'm the goddamn victim here. I'm the one who just got jumped. They should be chasing the asshole in the hoodie, not harassing me.
“On the ground, asshole,” the other cop shouts. “Now.”
“That guy tried to mug me,” I shout.
“Get on the ground or I'm going to hit you with a Taser,” the first cop yells. “Final warning, asshole.”
The rage still burning within me, I slowly get down on my knees and then lie on my belly. After the shit night I've had, the last thing I want is to get hit with a goddamn stun gun. The cops are on me a second later, cuffing my hands behind my back.
They help me to my feet and sit me in the back of the car while they do whatever it is they do when they're not arresting the wrong goddamn guy. More cops arrive, and I continue to sit there, in the back of the car, for more than an hour. And I don't know if they even bothered looking for the other guy.
The door opens suddenly, and I'm being helped out of the car. The two cops who'd put the cuffs on me are standing in front of me while a man in a suit is behind me, unlocking the cuffs. Free of the restraints, I rub my wrists together.
“Mr. Anderson,” says the man in the suit. “Lieutenant Phillips. I'm awfully sorry about this misunderstanding.”
I glare at the two cops standing before me. Neither of them can meet my eyes, choosing to look at the ground instead. Their boss had obviously figured out who I am and ripped them a new one.
“Did you find the guy who tried to mug me?” I ask.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Phillips says. “We did not. But, we do have the weapon he used during the attack and we'll be running it for prints.”
“Great,” I say.