ground. He tried to stick his thumbs in my eyes, and I choked the motherfucker until he didn’t move
On my feet, I shot a look to where Frankie had been as Archie lurched past me, striking another asshole with two fast jabs. A fist slammed into my face, and I tasted blood as the inside of my lip split. Turning my head, I met Jackson Taylor’s gaze and bared my teeth. He wanted to fight me?
Yes. Fucking. Please.
I caught the next fist he threw at me and wrenched his arm down. After that, it was all flying fists as a second guy launched into me. I took a pair of jabs to the kidneys before I slammed my elbow back and caught his face. The crunch of buckling bone was like music to my ears.
I didn’t know what these assholes had planned, and I didn’t care. They weren’t laying a finger on Frankie. As soon as I knocked one down, I collided with another. Some dim part of my brain trying to take notes on all of this registered Mitch’s face amidst the crowd. Mitch, who Bubba had knocked right through the railing and currently scrabbled with, even as others whaled on him.
Coop waded in without regard, his fists flying. While he didn’t fight often, we used to box back in middle school and in the early part of high school. We’d only stopped because he decided he liked his nose unbroken and I was an asshole.
Both were fair assessments.
A fist caught me in the solar plexus and knocked all the air out of me. I didn’t even try to figure out who or what or why. I just grabbed his hair and slammed his head down against my knee, then worked my way toward Bubba. Mitch was in that mess.
I wanted my pound of flesh from that asshole.
I wanted Frankie’s pound of flesh.
Bubba broke his jaw, but I wanted to break his legs.
And cut off his dick.
Fuck reasonable.
Then a feminine shriek cut through noise and jerked me out of the red haze.
Where the fuck was Frankie?
Ian
Mitch popping up like a damn devilish jack in the box was not on any bucket list or bingo card for my plans tonight. Tonight had been about Frankie, and for about thirty seconds there, I thought we’d done it. She’d re-opened the door she’d closed.
“You know I want to trust you?”
I wanted her to trust me.
She wanted a promise to talk to her if stuff started bothering me again? Yes.
She wanted to establish rules and be one of the people making them? Agreed.
She wanted a night of dancing? Sign me up.
Karaoke? Anytime. Anywhere.
I meant it when I said I would do anything for her. Then Mitch walked his ass up with half the damn team at his back.
The fucking dick.
I’d put myself between him and Frankie. No way in hell would I let them get through me to get to her. I’d already broken his jaw once. If he wanted me to take the rest of him apart, sign me up. Even blocking them from getting to her didn’t stop someone from yanking her away. I twisted to go after her, and that earned me a flurry of blows.
Every single one would leave a mark, but I was too pissed to care. Somewhere between the fist slamming into my ribs and another catching me just behind the ear, I landed a fist right into Mitch’s shoulder. He had a bad one. Wrenched it in junior year.
A dislocation.
Real bitch of an injury.
His sharp scream pressing out between his teeth was a sweet sound, even as the taste of copper flooded my mouth. Another blow had my eyes watering, then Coop was there, wading in next to me. We were trading guys off.
If Coop was there, then Archie and Jake were there.
They would get Frankie.
I locked my sights on Mitch. I was going to rip that asshole apart. The railing buckled under us, and the sound of wood tearing ripped through the night air as we went down in a hail of fists, elbows, and kicks. I rolled away from the first blow that caught me in the ribs.
Thank God for adrenaline, because the faint crack, audible over the grunts and explosions of air left me gasping for a breath. But I managed to wrench the guy kicking me down with an arm around his knee. Two sharp blows to the side, and he was screaming as the kneecap popped.