my butt slams onto the sidewalk so hard that pain shoots up my tailbone and I cry out. I fling my arms behind my head to smack and scratch at the arm that is dragging me away from freedom, my feet slipping and sliding against the ground trying to gain traction.
I tilt my head back to try and finally get a look at who is doing this to me, but all I see is a fist coming towards my face and then nothing but black.
I hear her scream as soon as the bouncer throws the door open. It echoes through the alley, and there is so much pain and fear in it that my heart momentarily stutters in my chest. I take off at a frantic run, shouting over my shoulder for the guy holding the door to call 9-1-1.
I can see her just across the street, crumpled to the ground, blood covering her knees. A large man wearing nondescript clothes and a ski mask over his face yanks her back by her hair, his fist raised above her head. I push myself harder and faster, my legs and arms pumping and my adrenalin spiking as I make it to the other side of the street, but not before I watch the man slam his fist into Layla’s face.
Seconds later, I ram my body into the side of his like a fullback during the Super Bowl. We both crash to the ground, my body landing on top of his and pushing him into the dirt. I’m pretty good at hand-to-hand combat, but this guy is three times my size and he fights dirty. I take an uppercut to the chin and a knee to the groin before I can get my bearings and throw my fist into his jaw. With an elbow to my chest that knocks the wind out of me, he shoves me off of him, scrambles up off of the ground, and takes off running in the opposite direction of the club. I quickly push myself up to my knees, whip my gun out from its hiding spot tucked in the back of my jeans, and take aim at his dark silhouette as he weaves in and out of parked cars before disappearing down another side street.
“Son of a bitch!” I shout, smacking my hand down on the ground before turning around to check on Layla, stowing my gun back in its holster as I move.
She’s out cold a few feet away from me, sprawled on the ground with dirt and grass stains all over her dress, cinders and blood covering her hands and knees. A lot of blood. Entirely too much for my liking. I need to get her the fuck out of here and fast. The cuts are small from what I can tell, but they are bleeding like a bitch. Sliding my gun back into place, I crawl over to her lifeless form and gingerly smooth her tangled mess of hair off of her face. I wince at the sight of the bruise that’s already starting to form on her cheekbone. As sirens in the distance start to get closer, I see groups of people gathering just outside the club door out of the corner of my eye, and I know I need to get her out of here immediately before someone takes a picture.
I cup Layla’s uninjured cheek in my hand and gently turn her face towards me.
“Come on, baby, wake up. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes.”
My thumb strokes her cheek softly as I continue to coax her awake, scanning her body for other injuries I might have missed.
I swear to Christ if that asshole touched her anywhere else…
I push back my fury as I hear a quiet, painful moan come from her lips.
“That’s it, Layla. Come on, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Before I can say anything else, the squeal of tires causes me to jerk my head up away from Layla, and I see a black SUV slam to a stop on the street right in front of us. I reach behind me for my gun when the passenger window slides down and Finn yells out to me.
“Come on! Let’s go! Get her in the car before the cops get here and this place is a fucking circus. We’ll go back to her cabin and call them from there.”
I know the right thing to do would be to wait here so we can give our statements and Layla can get