Theirs to Protect - Julia Sykes Page 0,4

path: the path that he’d stick to if he kept stalking my babygirl.

I shoved my phone back in my jacket pocket and forced my feet to carry me no faster than a jog. Flat-out sprinting to catch the bastard would attract too much attention, and I’d look strange enough jogging in jeans and a leather jacket rather than athletic attire. I took deep, even breaths as I closed the distance between us, falling back into the darker instincts I’d never wanted to revisit. But my body knew how to hunt without getting caught, and mindlessly surrendering to muscle memory would allow me to protect Ashlyn.

This is just another job. Threaten, question, and spill as little blood as possible.

I shoved down memories of Ashlyn’s delicate features drawn in fear as our enemies threatened her. If I lost myself to that red-hazed rage, I’d make a mistake. I’d put her at risk.

Even though I forced my feet to jog at a slower pace than I would’ve liked, I reached my destination in a little over sixty seconds. The fetid smell of rotting garbage and urine assailed my senses, but I shut off the part of my brain that recoiled at the stench.

No distractions. No emotions.

Ten seconds later, he passed the mouth of the alley. I grabbed his collar and hauled him into the shadows. The air whooshed out of his lungs when I slammed him back against the rough bricks, stifling his shocked shout.

“Who are you?” My determination to suppress my volatile emotions shattered as soon as my fists curled into his shirt. The next question in my brutal interrogation was little more than a snarl. “Why are you following Ashlyn?”

The man’s brown eyes narrowed on my face, the fear that clouded them darkening to contempt as he recognized me. His chapped lips curled in a sneer. “You’re worried about your slut? I thought you’d care more about your fuckboy, Russo. He’s almost as pretty as the whore you two fags share.”

Rage surged through my body in a searing riptide, and a red haze clouded my mind. Fury fogged reason, threatening to smother my control over my most violent impulses. My hand locked around his throat, and my palm pressed down on his windpipe with nearly enough force to crush the cartilage that protected his ability to speak and breathe.

Whore. The insult to my sweet girl was poison on his tongue, and for the first time in my life, I relished the prospect of a man’s blood on my hands. I wanted to slice it out of his foul mouth so he could never utter another filthy word about her.

Through my blinding rage, I registered the menace he directed at Joseph, too.

Mine. They were both mine. This bastard was threatening my family.

His hate-filled eyes bulged as my fingers squeezed hard enough to grind the fragile bones in his neck. No one would hear his screams for mercy. He would speak when I allowed it; when he was ready to answer my questions.

“Who are you?” I seethed, my muscles rippling with the almost overwhelming need to wring the response from his battered body. I had to know why he was doing this. He knew Joseph’s name, and he recognized me. He wasn’t simply a student who’d become obsessed with Ashlyn. This man was from our world, the dark past we’d tried to escape.

And if he’d come after us, there might be others out for our blood.

I eased my grip just enough to allow him a gasp of air, and his throat worked beneath my palm as he struggled to speak.

His rasping reply burned with pure, sadistic hatred. “Maybe I’ll take a turn with your pretty slut once we’ve buried you and Russo.”

A feral sound ripped up my throat, but a heartbeat before my control snapped, I heard the soft click of a switchblade. Muscle memory kicked in again, and I recoiled just in time to dodge the flashing knife. The wickedly sharp blade cut through my leather jacket, but the stab that could’ve gutted me didn’t so much as etch a scratch into my skin.

The steel glinted as the bastard swung again, and my body moved without thought. He was younger than me, lacking my years of experience in the dirtiest kinds of violence. My hand grabbed his wrist before he could slash at me. A swift, sharp twist snapped bone, and his agonized cry echoed off the brick walls. I caught the smooth metal hilt of the knife as it fell from