wrist to yank her back, when a man’s fist connected with her chest, knocking her backward.
I saw red.
Not just the angry sort of red that demanded your attention.
It was a vibrant shade of pissed-off. I could have cracked a tooth with how intently I clenched my jaw. Curling my palm into a strong fist, I reared back and attacked her assailant, landing a hit right on bald guy’s jaw. His head snapped to the left, so I threw another punch, this time aiming for his pouch of a gut.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Blakely’s torso, concave as she clutched her waist. Someone pulled my hair. Whiskey spilled down my shirt.
The bald guy went sailing toward the ground, and the scrawny college dude pumped his fist in the air like he had a right to claim victory. What the actual fuck? I did all the work.
Storming over to him, I clutched his shirt through my vice-like fingers and pulled it tight, making sure to press the collar of the shirt around his neck like a noose. “Get the fuck out of here,” I growled in his face, saliva forming in a pool between my teeth and my bottom lip as I shoved him toward the ground.
He crawled away while keeping his eyes on me, too scared to give me his back. Pussy.
Within seconds, I was spinning around and picking Blakely up as adrenaline coursed through my veins like a parade. Thump, thump, thump went my heart as I cradled her and walked toward a side hallway. Rose and security rushed by to check on the other patrons, but I was worried about one person only.
Blakely.
She trembled in my arms as I set her down. Steady feet kissed the ground as her back braced itself against the wall. Her shirt was completely soaked through, and with every staggering inhale, the movement highlighted the fact that her clothes were sticking to her petite frame. Where her tank top dipped, I noticed that her cleavage was blooming a bright shade of red.
“Are you okay?” I asked before gathering a clump of her fallen hair, which was sticky from the alcohol, and pushing it out of her face.
Bright tears fell like icicles down her cheeks as she chewed on her lower lip and lifted her eyes to meet mine. “I’m fine,” she rasped before rubbing her palm across her chest. “He just knocked the air out of me.”
I looked around and noticed that a supply closet was nearby. Threading my fingers through hers, I pulled her with me to the door, opened it, and guided her inside. “Do you want me to look?” I asked. The room was stacked with canned goods, and a dim light hung overhead. She pulled her shirt down, ever so slowly until it was at the wire of her bra. I would’ve usually been kicking myself for such a perfect view, but I was too busy worrying if she was okay. The curve of her cleavage was starting to bruise, a grayish color peppering her flawless skin. I wanted to kill them.
“Does it hurt to breathe?” I asked. She tested my question out with a deep inhale, the air rattling in her chest before she whooshed it out. I breathed in the smell of her breath, getting drunk on mint gum and Diet Coke.
“Not really,” she replied before letting go of her shirt. Because it was drenched, the elasticity didn’t give. So instead of resuming its job of covering her up, the gaping trim still showed off the spot where a bruise was forming. It was like a beacon of pain, and I wanted nothing more than to make it disappear, take the throbbing on as my own.
She shook. I clenched my fist.
“Let me go get you some ice, okay?” I asked. I could hear loud voices on the other side of the door, and even though I knew she needed something, I wasn’t quite ready to leave. She was secluded. She was safe.
I had turned to leave when thin fingers wrapped around my forearm, stopping me. “Don’t go?” her stuttered voice pleaded. I turned back to look at her, and my heart sank. There was fresh, crisp fear burning through her eyes. The green hue was feral with anxiety. She bit her lip again.
I braced my hands on her shoulders, lightly holding her still. I wanted to crush her to my chest but didn’t trust myself to do so. “You’re safe now,” I promised. She would