by Blue Saffire
“Step forward,” Striker demanded.
The man shrunk and held up his hands. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Striker’s anger blasted hot. He wanted to work this guy over. He didn’t move though. If this place had cameras, he wanted it to look like the guy attacked him.
“Oh, you don’t. So why did you hit her?” His voice boomed around the room.
The jerk stood and backed up. “She wouldn’t give me head. I bought her an expensive meal, and she didn’t want to suck me.”
He glanced back and caught her gaze. “Is what he’s saying true?”
She winced and shrank away. He turned back to the guy and clenched his fist.
“I’m guessing her silence is confirmation. Consent is a thing, like an important thing. You can’t just hit someone because they won’t suck your cock. Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can come over here and let me show you how it feels to be beat by someone who is bigger than you, or we can call the cops.”
Striker didn’t think the guy would come to him, and he was sure the dude didn’t want to get arrested. Then two men stepped up beside the little pipsqueak. Striker’s heart sank.
“Take it outside,” the bartender grumbled as he pulled a baseball bat from under the bar.
Three against one appeared to be the score. Striker’s lips curled as a sense of twisted pleasure ripped through him. He would beat their asses. It would take longer to get the job done, but he had time.
Striker dipped his chin, nodding once. The two bigger guys returned the motion.
“Let’s go,” Striker said.
“You don’t have to,” the woman clinging to him whispered.
He met her gaze and his heart softened. For some strange reason he reached up and brushed her hair behind her ears, she didn’t flinch away. Her gaze was dark, pleading. She’d gone pale and her lips had thinned.
“He’ll never learn to be a man if no one stands up to him.” His words were low, spoken so only she heard. Fighting for her honor wasn’t really his place, but he’d found himself in this exact location for a reason, and he guessed it was this.
Most of the bar had slithered outside to watch the fight. The woman he was defending stood next to the bartender while Striker moved to an open space in the parking lot. He prayed they didn’t pull a knife in this dim light. No way would he see it if they did. He cracked his knuckles and prepared for the first hit.
Bets were placed, and in his sick and twisted mind, he liked this. A chuckle escaped his lips. No doubt he was crazy. The biggest of the three guys threw the first punch, connecting with his jaw. It hurt, but not too bad. He’d received worse in basic training, and much worse in special forces. He just needed to know how hard this guy hit so he had an idea what he was in for.
The three guys fighting him laughed, thinking they had him. Overconfidence would be his enemy, so he didn’t say a word to them as they prepared to win.
Fighting three men at once was daunting. He couldn’t allow them to get behind him, and he couldn’t drop to the ground. No matter how hard they hit him, he had to stay upright.
The big guy came at him again, and Striker ducked under his arm, getting in a hard shot to the guy’s ribs. The man grunted out a whoosh of air and bent forward. The small guy who had hit the woman attempted to attack, but Striker popped the dude straight in the nose, dropping him to the ground with one clean hit.
Cheers went up around the circle of people in the parking lot. One less jerk to worry about, at least for a few seconds. The man who hadn’t weighed in on the fight yet stalked forward, his fists raised. The guy was fighting like he was in grade school or something. Striker felt bad for him, but not bad enough to throw out pointers. He spun, kicking the man in the face. The crowd cheered again.
Big Dude came at him and punched Striker in the cheek. Striker stumbled backward, catching himself by waving his arms so he didn’t fall. His antics probably looked comical, but he was trying to stay alive. Fighting three guys was stupid. It was at least reckless, but not undoable.
Woman Beater stood on wobbly legs and raised his fists. Striker moved to the left and advanced on the jerk.
“Next time hire someone to suck you. It’s cheaper in the long run.” Striker one-punched Woman Beater, then spun, catching the big bloke in the arm with his foot. It wasn’t a good hit, just average at best, but it would have to do for now.
If he didn’t take out the other guy, the one who wasn’t so big, Striker knew he’d end up on the ground soon. Striker backed up, assessing the situation.
“What’s the matter, baby, can’t take the heat?” Big Dude called out.
Woman Beater was down, mid-guy was shaking off the last hit Striker had thrown, and Big Dude looked ready to kill. For three against one, he was doing okay. That was until mid-guy pulled a knife. That’s when shit got real.
The noise around him turned to a buzz. Their shouts and cheers faded into the background. He focused on the two men in front of him. It seemed like the pair had fought together before.
This had gone from trying to teach a woman beater a lesson and moved to survival. On their own, he had little doubt he could beat these men. But together like this, with one of them using a knife, he wasn’t sure he could take them.
Knife Guy lunged, and Striker jumped back and then blasted the dude with a fist to the nose. The guy went down on one knee. The big guy threw a punch, knocking the wind out of Striker. The knife was dangerous, but so were the beefy punches Big Dude threw. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be down and out for the count.
The one with the knife came at him, and he didn’t move fast enough. Pain shot up his arm as the blade raked over his forearm. Gasps went up around the circle. If Striker had to guess, it was because he looked like he would lose. He had to act fast. Knife Guy along with Big Dude were too hard to beat together.
“Stop. Stop,” a woman yelled behind him.
It was probably the woman he’d tried to save, but he couldn’t risk giving her attention to find out.
Backing down wasn’t his style, but getting killed in a bar fight wasn’t his style either. He didn’t picture a way to end this gracefully.
Striker clenched his fists. The burn from the cut across his forearm ached. He needed a miracle. The buzz in his head grew. That wasn’t a good sign. He was either going to die, or he would probably be in the hospital for the rest of his leave. Either way, he was going down.
3
Striker drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to die. This fight was unfair, but most fights were. He had to find a way to get out of this situation. If only he had one other guy willing to stand up with him. But this wasn’t his stomping grounds, and his luck had run out.
The pair fighting with the abuser looked at each other, their smiles growing. Big Dude nodded as they signaled each other. Striker could see plainly what they were doing and was ready for the next attack from Knife Guy.
The man lunged, knife first. Striker leaned low and swept his leg, tripping him, then pushed him hard, shoving him to the ground. Now he had Knife Guy behind him and Big Dude rushing him. There wasn’t any way he could escape the punch flying at his face.
Bam!
The solid blow to his face had him staggering. Knife Guy was in the process of climbing to his feet but was still down. Big Dude was winding up to hit again.
He had a plan; it wasn’t good, but it was a plan to not die. Then the woman who he’d tried to save rushed over, getting between him and the big beefy man.
“Don’t,” she roared. “Leave him alone.”
“Need a pussy to fight for you,” Big Dude barked.
She growled low before screaming. “I’m not a pussy, you asshole.”
Her attitude was off the charts—he gave her an A for that—but this wasn’t a place for her. These two guys weren’t gentlemen, and he feared they wouldn’t care if she was hurt.
He pulled her back, stepping in front of her. “I’ve got this.”
“Th
ey aren’t fighting fair. They have a knife,” she spit out.
Right then Knife Guy jumped up and rushed them from his side. No way in hell would he allow this woman to get hurt more than she already was. Striker turned, angling toward Knife Guy, and kicked, knocking the knife from the man’s hand. He pulled Knife Guy in close and punched him hard. Knife Guy crumpled to the ground. That only left Big Dude.
Striker stepped closer to Big Dude and prepared for a hit, but without Knife Guy to back him up, the jerk lifted his hands and shook his head.
“Hey, I don’t want any trouble. You know, I was just standing up for my friend.”
“Bullshit. You were deep in the middle of trouble and weren’t fighting fair. You and your pals need to get out of here,” Striker stated before spitting on the ground in front of the jerk.
The man grabbed his friend, half carrying him, half dragging him, as they made their way to an old rusted-out car.
The woman he’d stepped in to help came over, a worried look on her face. Her lips thinned out even more as she stared at his arm. “That cut looks nasty.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her worry. “I’m fine.”
“No, come on. There’s a pharmacy not too far from here. I’ll get you cleaned up.”
The pain in his arm bothered him, but he could take care of it himself. He wanted to spend more time with her. He shook his head, which only amplified the dizziness he’d experienced from the few punches he’d taken. “Sure. My truck is over here.”
“You okay to drive?”
He pulled out his keys, forcing himself to steady. “Sure am.” Striker opened the door for her, but before she stepped in, he put his hand on her arm. “So, what’s your name?”
Her lips twitched up a little and the skin around her eyes softened. “Shannon.”
“Well, Shannon, it’s nice to meet you. People call me Striker.”
He studied her face, thinking she needed ice for her eye. What a pair they made. Bruises for her, and his arm was still bleeding. The people at the pharmacy might freak out, but the last thing he wanted was to head to a hospital. Jesus, the first night on leave and he’d already gotten in a bar fight with three guys. He stepped around the truck, thinking he needed to slow down.
“You okay?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“I am now. Thank you. I had no clue he was such a jerk. My friend set us up. I’m not sure why he believed we would have sex on the first date.”
He hated scumbags like the guy who’d hit Shannon. He’d had his ups and downs with women, but not once had he ever hit one of them. And every guy knew sexy time on a first date was iffy, or they should know that.
At a stoplight, he glanced at her, worry filling him. He didn’t really want to go back to that bar. “So was your car back there?”
She shook her head. “Um, no. I took a shared ride.”
“Oh. Did you want to order another one? I mean, I got you into my truck and didn’t even ask what you wanted.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she shook her head. The light turned green, and he took off, driving up another few blocks before he found the pharmacy. He pulled into the lot and cut the engine.
“I can’t call anyone or order a car. My phone is in his car.” Her whispered words were filled with sadness.
“What?” A new round of anger struck. “We should go back there and get it.”
“He’s gone. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll get you another one?” he suggested.
“I can’t. My dad wouldn’t understand that. I’ll figure it out.”
She looked even more overwhelmed. Maybe later in the week, he’d find a way to buy her a burner phone.
He stepped out of his truck and rushed around, but she already had her feet on the ground. Earlier, he’d been concerned with her well-being. Now he wasn’t so much worried about her safety and took a long look at her in the pharmacy’s harsh fluorescent light. Even with the gray cast of the light, she looked amazing in her rose-hued dress and two-inch heels.
When his gaze met hers, she lifted her brows. “You don’t look so good.”
He shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“That’s BS. You look pale.”
He pocketed his keys, and pain shot up his arm. “It’s the lighting.”
Shannon shook her head, and her lips thinned. “No, you look bad. There’s an urgent-care place next door.”
He took a step away from his truck. “I don’t—” His knees gave out and almost buckled. Shannon moved fast, propping him up.
“That’s it. Let’s head over there. Come on. Walk with me.”
She led him inside and helped him check in. He handed over his ID and insurance card. No other patients were waiting to be seen, so they took him right back since he was still bleeding.
“Well, what happened here?” the doctor asked as he stepped in, his gaze on Striker’s injured arm.
“It’s not bad. Just a scratch,” Striker said, trying to make light of the situation. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”
The doctor washed his hands at the sink and pulled on a pair of gloves. “If it wasn’t bad, you wouldn’t be in here. Let me look at what we have.”
The doctor had the nurse clean the wound. Blood oozed from his arm, spreading on the cloth below. Maybe it was worse than he’d suspected.
He glanced up, catching Shannon’s gaze. She hadn’t left, which amazed him. She didn’t have to stay, but here she was still by his side.
With the wound cleaned, the doctor was back by his side. “I’m glad you came in. You need stitches. You’ll need an antibiotic too.”
Shannon stepped close and held his other hand. The doctor gave her a long look, then glanced back to Striker.
“Striker didn’t hit me,” Shannon blurted out.
“So, what happened?” the doctor asked as he readied his equipment.
“Striker knocked out the guy who hit me.”
The doctor lifted his brows, his gaze on Striker. “So the guy who hit you, he did this?”
“No,” Shannon added. “There were three of them. It was an unfair fight, but Striker won.”
The doctor poked at his arm with a sterile instrument before he began the task of stitching him up. First was a shot to deaden the pain; the second was an antibiotic.
“Is your tetanus up-to-date?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, sir. It sure is. Everything is up-to-date,” Striker said.
“Good. Now, then, you should feel the pull but not the pain.”
Striker gave a half smile and held on to Shannon’s hand. She flinched as the doctor stuck the needle into his arm. She looked more worried about the stitches than he was, which was a little funny.
“Why are you laughing?” the doctor asked.
“Nothing really. Thanks for stitching me up. Looks good.”
Shannon squeezed his hand. “The stitches do look good.”
The doctor’s lips crooked up, and he stared proudly at his handiwork. “Thank you. I think you’re all done. Do you need a note for work?”
“I’m on leave for another few days. I should be fine.”
The doctor nodded, and his lips turned down. “Okay. Take it easy. No more knife fights.”
“I’ll try.” Striker stood up ready to leave.
“Hold on there, cowboy. The nurse will bring in your prescription. If you need anything, we’re here all week.”
Striker chuckled. “Hopefully I won’t need your service again.”
After paying his copay, they headed out. Shannon held the door open for him, and he was about to say something about being able to do everything on his own but held silent. The shot and the pain were starting to affect him, and he didn’t want Shannon to bail. Actually, he wanted to spend more time with her.
“So, where to? Do you want me to take you home?”
“It’s far from here. All the way up in North Charleston. I just—I live with my dad. He’s going to go ballistic.”
&n
bsp; “I’m sure my dad would be pissed if my sister came home beaten up. The guy would need to hide out for months.”
Shannon shook her head. “No, he’ll be mad that I made the guy angry.”
Striker stopped walking, and so did she. She turned to face him, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. He moved fast, pulling her into a gentle hug. His throat closed with emotions when her arms went around his waist.
“I can’t imagine being that stupid. I’m sorry,” Striker choked out.
She shrugged, and he stepped back. His awareness of how sexy she was grew with each second he spent with her. He shouldn’t have pulled her into his arms. Now he knew how good she felt up against him.
Shannon was small; her heels added a few inches to her height, but the top of her head only came to his chin. Her dark lashes were long, her lips full now that she wasn’t worried. She looked kissable, even with the cut lip. His gaze traveled over her face, taking in her beauty once again. He’d never really thought about anyone this intensely before. He wanted her fingers on his chest as he kissed her, and then he wanted more.
Her gaze warmed, and desire filled him. He had to push it away or risk scaring her. Instead of kissing her lips, he leaned in and brushed his lips over her forehead then backed up and watched her face.
“This may be stupid, but I swear I’ll behave. Stay with me, and then you can figure out what to do in the morning.”
Her breath hitched as worry crossed her face. She searched his eyes for a long moment. “You won’t do anything?”
“No. I swear, I’ll behave. I know you don’t know me, but I’m not going to try anything.”
Shannon closed her eyes, and pain slid across her features before she opened them and pinned him with a hard stare. Too much rode on this. He shouldn’t need her to stay, but he did. Though he’d just met her, he needed her in his life more than he needed air.
4
Striker held his breath until she gave a fast nod. “Okay, but I don’t want to have sex.”
“No sex. You can take a shower. I have a large T-shirt that will probably come to your knees. I won’t hurt you. You have my word sworn on the lives of my dead brothers.”
