left hand sucks! Jesus, and I call myself a surgeon? When I most need precision, I am fucking hampered by the bloody splint. The asshole sways, then the knife slips from his fingers and crashes to the ground.
Amelie lurches forward. She stumbles and my heart slams into my ribcage. I jump forward, reach her as she collapses. I yank her to my side and behind me.
I raise my hand at the bastard, who's still standing. Why the hell is he still standing? I bury my fist in his face. He howls. I swing my fist at him again, he arches back, and I graze his shoulder. He straightens, then swings at me. I raise my left arm, deflect the blow. He comes at me again. I swear, angle my body to protect her. He lands a punch in my shoulder. At least it's the unhurt arm. I grunt, try to weave away. Behind me, Amelie stiffens and wriggles in my grasp. I turn my face—big mistake, asshole lands one in the side of my head. Sparks flare between my eyes. I growl, shake my head.
Amelie snarls, tugs in my grasp. "Let me go," she whispers.
"No," I growl, pull away as the bastard tries to deck me again.
"Unhand me, you macho ass." She pulls away, but I refuse to release her. She buries her teeth in my bicep. The fuck?
I grunt, loosen my hold on her, just as the intruder buries his fist in my other shoulder. A growl rips from me; my entire arm throbs...especially the motherfucking middle finger in a splint—"F-u-u-c-k!" I shake my head, focus my attention on the motherfucker. I curl my fist—my bloody left fist—swing at him, land a hit, then again. He grunts, lumbers backward. I head butt him, and he crashes into the counter behind him.
I raise my arm as Amelie yells, "Take that you bastard." She heaves the spatula at the stranger, catches him in the nose. He howls, presses his palm to his face, pushes away, turns and lurches around the dining table. "You bloody prick, you dare break into my apartment?” She grabs the next available weapon—which happens to be the other pie—the one left to cool on the counter behind her. She throws it at the retreating figure, catches him in the shoulder. He grunts, stumbles, steadies himself at the doorframe—asshole's wearing gloves as well.
"You think I am afraid? Huh? You think you can come in here and invade my space... you... you..."
"Dickhead?" I supply.
"No, that's an insult I reserve for you," she cries.
She glances around, reaches for another knife, throws it at him...misses. The blade embeds in the doorframe.
The intruder runs out of the kitchen. The next second, the door to the apartment slams behind him.
"You fucking prick, you horrible, mangy-faced, skiving, conniving, dodgy cocksucker—" She grabs hold of a whisk, hurls it at the door, picks up the pastry brush and throws it, then reaches for a wooden spoon.
I reach for her, "Amelie."
"Randy, ass-whipped... ignominious—" She throws the spoon in the direction of the door, but it only makes it halfway over before hitting the floor. She stumbles forward, reaches for the cookie cutter. I grab her wrist. She swings at me, her gaze wild, hair flowing about her shoulders.
"Princess, stop," I admonish her. She stabs the rolling pin in my chest, "Ouch." I grunt, press down with my fingers, "He's gone, Buttercup."
"What if he comes back?" she pants.
"He won't," I promise.
"What if he does?" she insists.
I lower her hand, slide the rolling pin from her fingers, "Then, uh, I promise to defend us from him, with—" I raise the rolling pin, "This?" I frown.
She glances at it, then at my face. "That's ridiculous." She giggles.
"It is, huh?" I quirk my lips, then hold up the blasted thing in a defensive gesture, "Well then, am I Westley enough for you?"
"No." She shakes her head, "I prefer you as Weston."
"And I fucking love you, any which way." I peruse her flushed features. "Even armed with deadly kitchen utensils—"
"Baking tools," she corrects me.
"What-fucking-ever." I fling the rolling pin aside, hold out my arms.
She jumps up and into my embrace.
"Fucking hell, Buttercup, you fucking bloody scared me," I say as I scoop her up.
She wraps her legs around my waist. "You stupid oaf, you left me, in the bed, on my own." She hiccoughs.
"Yeah, I am that and more," I agree. "You can call me any bloody insult under the sun and I deserve it all."
"He...he..." She buries her face in