A man shoved him into the building, much like they’d done to me earlier, and slammed his head into the wall. It definitely wasn’t Marco; that much I knew. This guy was too big. Too tall. Too muscular. And almost . . . familiar.
Star Tattoo whimpered. “Look, man, you don’t have to do this. She’s just a whore that we were—”
The man growled. “I know exactly what you were doing, asshole.”
I sat up and hugged myself. My shirt had been ripped in the fight. I needed to get to my feet, needed to be in a better position to fight if I had to, but I . . . I needed a minute.
Soft Boston accent. Domineering tone. I knew that voice. Lucas. He had saved me. But why? Where had he come from? My mind struggled to make any sense amid all the uncontrollable panic that now bubbled to the surface. They were arguing between grunts and punches.
“You may have been locked up for a while, but that ain’t no excuse for forgetting how this works. You got no right barging in here, Mr. Donahue. With all due respect, this ain’t your, or Tate’s, business.” Star Tattoo looked over his shoulder at Lucas. “Nothing to do with you or the Sons of Steel Row at all, matter of fact.”
Wait. Lucas Donahue? Now I knew why he looked familiar. He worked for the most violent arms dealer in the area. He was in a gang. He was in the Sons of Steel Row.
While I stayed far away from that life, I knew a few people who didn’t. Those still alive kept me up-to-date. When I met him in my bar, I’d known he was trouble, but I hadn’t known he was that much trouble. His crew was known for their violence and brutality. They owned Steel Row and pretty much everything in it.
Why, then, did he save me?
“It’s my business because she’s mine.” Lucas fisted his hand in Star Tattoo’s hair and slammed his head into the wall. “She’s my girlfriend, you fucking idiot, and she has my protection.”
Wait. I was his what?
The man nodded as best as he could. “S-sorry, Mr. Donahue. We didn’t know she was property of Steel Row.”
“Now you fucking know. You come near her again, and I’ll kill you and everyone else in Bitter Hill, and then I’ll kill some more.” He yanked on the man’s hair. “Got it, prick?”
He nodded again. “Yes.”
“Clean up the bodies before she gets in trouble for something she didn’t do. I’ll expect them to be gone within the hour.” Lucas slammed the guy’s face into the wall one more time and shoved him in the opposite direction from me. “Now, get out before I change my mind and kill you, too.”
The man fell but stumbled to his feet and took off as if hell itself chased after him. It probably did. Lucas watched him go, his hands still fisted. His back was to me, and his frame was illuminated by the streetlights. He stood there for a second, his entire body stiff. Then he kicked Dark Eyes’s dead body and snarled, “Son of a bitch.”
I watched him, cautiously remaining quiet. Yeah, he’d been a hero tonight, but he didn’t exactly look happy about that. When he turned to me, he held out his hand as he kneeled beside me. He reached out to touch me and I flinched. Not because of him, but because I was having a delayed reaction to what had just happened. It had all happened so fast. Lucas’s eye was already blackening, and he had blood running down from a gash in his forehead. He was sweaty and bloody and he’d saved my life.
By killing two men.
His mouth tightened into a flat line and he cupped my cheek, despite my knee-jerk reaction. “Are you okay? Did they . . . did he . . .?” He scanned my torn clothes with angry, concerned eyes. “Shit.”
“I’m fine.” I held my ripped shirt together with a tight grip. The sensation of his hand on my cheek was comforting. Never thought I’d put him and that thought in the same sentence together. “You were just in time.” I choked back tears of relief.
Big girls weren’t supposed to cry.
“No.” He swept his thumb over my cheekbone. “Not fast enough.”
I rested my hand over his, holding it in place. Gratitude for what he’d done for me filled me, and I knew there was no going back to pretending he didn’t affect me. “Thank you. Seriously.”
Something flashed in his bright green eyes. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m not your hero. I’m not anyone’s hero.”
He stood up and towered over me. I tilted my head back, and he watched me with a dark look in his green eyes—one that etched itself into my soul. With one look at his dangerous jawline, I knew that I’d never forget who he was, or his real name, ever again. I let him help me stand, my knees shaking so uncontrollably I thought I might fall over, which pissed me off. I hated weakness. It didn’t look good on me. Glancing down at the bodies on the ground, I swallowed hard. “Are they both dead?”
He didn’t let go of me but started leading me toward his shop. “They won’t bother you again.”
“They’re dead.” I followed him, more out of instinct than anything else. He tugged me along, so I followed him. “You killed them.”
“They were going to hurt you.” He stopped walking, our hands still entwined. “Of course I did.”