Seven dudes in the immediate vicinity assaulted the guy at the same time. It was almost like watching a pack of wolves attack a deer or something. That spoiled kid tried to run and actually managed to get about a third of the way to the door, before he was stopped by a bunch of other guys. They were so eager to rough him up that they wound up hurting each other, and like a ring of dominoes, the fight radiated out from the preppy moron, throughout the whole bar. The noise escalated to a deafening level. Glass broke. Drinks spilled. The stench of spit and blood rose drowned out the smell of beer. I headed for the back door since, at this point, I had no choice but to bail and pick up the pieces in the morning, and that’s when I saw her.
She was stock-still in the middle of it, her hands pressed over her mouth as she watched them pummel her boyfriend to a bloody pulp. Her tidy white blouse was already stained with beer and blood. Guys all around her were fighting and grappling for no goddamn reason, carelessly knocking her tiny self around. I almost left her there, but she was just so small and innocent, reminding me ofAlice. So when a really drunk guy grabbed her arm and tried to force himself on her, something in my brain snapped.
I plunged into the chaos head-first. I decked the guy so hard, his tooth went flying and the poor girl's shirt was flecked with more bloody spittle. I yanked her by the arm, dragging her toward the edge of the crowd. I had to draw my knife on someone, slashing the back of their hand as they grabbed at her. I barely heard her whimper over all the ruckus, but I could tell she was terrified. Her little arm was shaking in my hand. I kicked someone's shin with my steel-toe boot to make them get the fuck out of the way, and finally, we broke free of the crowd. I shoved her down a dark little hallway, her voice was more audible now. She was bawling.
I fucking hated it when girls cried. Got me right in the man parts. Did something weird to my brain. Made me want to protect 'em and hold 'em. Made me feel all... sensitive and shit. I hated feeling soft outside of my Ma's house, it was dangerous to feel like that on the street.
I dragged her through the back door and we emerged in the disgusting little loading dock beside the dumpsters. She was gasping for breath as she cried, her knees knocking together and everything, I was kinda worried she would collapse at any moment.
"Don't cry, it's fine," I said, trying to step back from her, but she just buried her face in my shoulder instead, crying even harder. She was shaking all over, gripping the lapel of my jacket, so small and delicate and helpless. I badly wanted to hold her and make her feel better, but I couldn't allow that right now, I had to be Canis Grandis. I settled for awkwardly patting her on the back as she sniffled and moaned into my chest.
"You're okay," I said again, as she calmed down a bit, "I mean... you are okay, right? Are you hurt?" I prayed she wasn’t hurt, I couldn’t stand it when a tiny girl like her was hurt and crying.
"I— I—... I think I'm okay," she mumbled meekly, sniffling and wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "Plenty of bruises, probably, but nothing serious."
"Good."
"What are they doing to Brad?" she moaned, burying her face in her hands. "I hope he's okay. Oh my God, they're not gonna kill him, are they?"
"Uh..." She looked at me with those huge eyes. They were all shiny from her tears and her little nose was all red. I scowled at her, hoping to mask the way she was making me feel, all soft and worried, which was distinctly un-gangster-like. "Look, I don't know what they're gonna do to your fuckin' idiot boyfriend, okay? I mean it's not like they're askin' me whether they can kick the shit outta him, and if he dies— hey!"
She had turned and started walking back toward the bar. Halfway to the door, I caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I have to make sure he's okay," she said, her lip trembling.
"Please don't cry," I pleaded, "look, he's a jackass, he deserves whatever he gets—"
"How dare you!?" she cried. "No one deserves to be treated like that! I can't believe—"
"Hey, that's life on the street," I said with a shrug.
"I love Brad and I have to make sure he's okay—"
"Look, lady." I turned her toward me, frowning at her adorable face, trying to make her understand how serious the situation was. "This is my bar, alright? I've been in more fights than I can count, and you couldn’t pay me enough to go back in there. You have no idea how dangerous it is—"
"Which is why I have to save Brad." She whirled and started marching again.
"What do you even think you're gonna do!?" I yelled after her, but she didn't even glance over her shoulder at me. I could not believe the stupidity of this little chick as she slipped back in the back door, her waifish body immediately consumed by the commotion. I huffed and sighed, pacing in front of the door. I was arguing with myself. I knew I had to go after her, but I really didn't want to. There weren't many things that scared me, but an angry mob in an enclosed space? Yeah, that scared me. Then again, it was my fear that had gotten Alice killed, and—
"HEY!" I yelled as I saw the preppy fuckwit staggering around the side of the building. He looked like shit, covered in blood, lip split, nose bleeding, one eye blackened and swollen shut. He couldn't even stand up straight, but he was limping as fast as he could. He ignored me and limped even faster, uttering a strangled, growling kind of cry that might have been words, but I couldn't make them out. I realized he was heading towards a silver BMW parked like half a block away. He reached the car, heaved himself inside and sped off, swerving and fishtailing all over the place.
He got away.
He left.
Without the girl.
I plunged back into the chaos without hesitating another second, my blood boiling with rage. By now, the crowd was like a snake eating its own tail. The guys hardly noticed me as they were absorbed in fights, drinks, drugs, or trying to force themselves on the tiny girl. A group of four guys had surrounded her and my heart swelled with admiration because she was fighting tooth and nail, jamming her foot into one guy's balls, dodging their hands, spitting in their faces. Despite her best efforts, she was just too small and not to mention, outnumbered. One of those bastards grabbed her as I shouldered my way through the crowd; I heard him scream in pain when she viciously bit down on his hand. He retaliated by hitting her. Hard. So hard that she lost consciousness.
I was kinda glad she fainted so that she didn't have to see what happened next.
The guy who had hit her? I slit his throat from behind. He let go of her and slumped to the ground. I punched another guy in the face so hard that he turned around and vomited. As I glared at the last two, they quickly backed off. Putting away the knife, I picked up the girl and finally got the fuck out of the bar.
CHAPTER THREE
Candace
When I woke up the next day, it was almost impossible to breathe.
My whole body ached, even my face. Trying to take in a deep breath only made my chest ache. I immediately regretted opening my eyes as the morning light blinded me. My head hurt so much that it took me several minutes to realize that I was in a stranger's house.
I sat bolt upright, wincing at the wave of pain and nausea, but I couldn't stay still because I didn't know where the fuck I was. For one dizzying instant, I wondered if I had relapsed. Holy shit, had I gotten drunk? But my head felt fine... well, I mean, physical pain aside, I didn't have the fog of a hangover? What the fuck had happened? I looked down at my hands and saw a multitude of tiny cuts. It was only then that I realized I was wearing someone else's clothes. They weren't even Brad's clothes. I clasped my head in both hands, reeling, trying to figure out where I was and whose clothes these were, but my memory turned up blank. So many questions flooded my mind. Where was Brad? The last thing I remembered was the huge fight that had broken out in the bar, and—
I gasped out loud, looking down at the gray sweatpants that swallowed my legs. Had one of those disgusting old biker guys kidnapped me? My heart pounded and my head reeled. Pani
c got the best of me and for a moment, I feared I was on the verge of a complete psychotic break before a little voice in my head advised me: Calm down, Candy. Do you really think those guys would have bothered to clean you up and dress you in some comfy sweats?
Well, no. I had to admit that despite being scared, there was nothing immediately threatening about my environment. It was actually sort of... cozy. Aside from the oversized sweats I was dressed in, I was nestled in a comfy, queen-sized bed, swaddled in a navy blue comforter. Out the little window, I could see a tree that was naked except for a sprinkling of bright red berries. I drew my knees up to my chest and stared out the window for a while before surveying the room. It was pretty plainly furnished, with a nightstand and a dresser, a closet and a chair beside it. The carpet was a weird kind of grassy green, a color I was pretty sure hadn't been manufactured since the mid-eighties, at least. But it looked clean and well-cared-for, just like everything else in the room. On top of the dresser were a few things, a bottle of cologne, a phone charger, a little dish of change and a watch. My lips twitched in a smile that I couldn't really explain.
Whoever he was, he was a gentleman. A gentleman. My body was hurting, but I was reasonably certain that I hadn't been violated. Just cleaned up and dressed. I noted, with another smile, that my underwear was all still on my body. I heaved a huge sigh of relief and buried my face in my hands. Where the hell was Brad? Maybe this was one of his friends' house? Except this was an older building. I could tell by the feel of it, by the size, by the smell. And out the window, I could see it was a poorer neighborhood. Brad didn't have any friends that lived in houses like this. Had someone rescued me, then?
Eventually, my curiosity forced me out of bed to go exploring, hoping to find my rescuer and thank them. It was kind of chilly once I moved the covers aside, and when I stood up, I had to stand still with my hand on the wall, as my vision swam and I rode a wave of dizziness. Luckily, it passed quickly. I ran my hands through my hair, noting that it had been brushed at some point. Suddenly, I heard voices in a nearby room.
Well, sort of. I heard one voice, and I heard one... well, it was a voice, I guess, but they weren't speaking words, as far as I could tell. Just vocalizing. I crept down a short hallway and emerged in a cozy little living room. That one redhead guy from the bar last night was there, sitting in an armchair, and beside him was a gangly young man, strapped into a power wheelchair. I couldn’t help but stare as the young man in the wheelchair was obviously suffering from a severe disability. His right arm was in some kind of splint, and he couldn't sit still for more than a second without some part of his body moving. When he tried to speak, he just made awkward noises.
Suddenly, the redhead guy turned around and looked straight at me, almost startled. "So she is," he said to the young man.
"Uh... hi?" I said, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Good morning, I mean."
"Hey, hi, are you okay?" The redhead guy got up and came to me, putting his hands on my upper arms and looking down at me in a way that made my stomach feel quite ticklish. I felt... safe. I could tell he was genuinely concerned about me. And I had been too upset to notice last night, but he was handsome. Not in a classical way, really, but in kind of a Leonardo DiCaprio type of way, with his reddish hair falling across his forehead, and stormy gray eyes. Being this close, I could see he had a small scar bisecting his left eyebrow.
"I'm fine, I—"
The young man in the wheelchair said something. At least I guess he was talking because the redhead turned and said to him, "Yeah, but you don't need to say so. Don't be a dick."
Through their interaction, I could only assume they were brothers. As the younger one responded, I thought he might be grinning, but it was hard to tell because his facial expression moved constantly. Even his mouth was always moving. In a way, I felt really bad for him and didn't know how to act or what to say. He made eye contact with me, or at least I thought he did, and his grin widened. He said something, but I didn't understand it at all.
"You want some breakfast?" The redhead gestured toward the other end of the living room, where a doorway led to a warmly-lit area I presumed to be the kitchen. "I've got eggs and bacon and—" He glanced over his shoulder as the young man interjected. "Yeah man, English muffins. So now you want breakfast now that we've got a cute girl at the table?"
The boy in the wheelchair laughed. It didn't sound like anything I had ever heard before, but it was definitely laughter. I was a little embarrassed by the compliment, but all I could do was smile and follow the redhead guy into the kitchen.
"How d'you like your eggs, uh..." He was already at the stove, pulling things from the nearby fridge. He turned to glance at me. "What's your name?"
"Candace," I said, taking a seat at the table.
"Nice to meet you, Candace. I'm Ty, and that's—"
"Chuff-thin." The boy in the wheelchair rolled up beside me and pulled up to the table. He was looking at me expectantly and I looked back, nonplussed.
"Huh?" Was all I could manage. I had never been in this close proximity to someone with such a severe disability. He made me nervous like I might offend him or do something wrong.
"Muh... ngaym— Zhhhhhuh... zhuh... Jus— tin," he managed to say.
I stared at him for a second, when the words finally clicked. I brightened up and said, "Oh! Justin! Your name's Justin?"
I think he tried to nod, but it was hard to tell. He seemed pleased, though. I think.
"He's hard to understand at first, but you'll get used to it," said Ty, cracking a couple eggs into the pan. "Fried eggs okay with you, Candy?"
"Canda... oh, uh..." I blushed a little and tried to hide my smile. Ever since I could remember I had wanted people to call me Candy, but my mom thought it was stupid and forbade me from introducing myself that way. Hearing it from Ty's lips made me giddy. I loved the way he said it, with a little extra pressure on the d. "Fried eggs, great. Yeah."
"We'll eat and make sure you're okay. Once my Ma gets back from her thing, I can take you home." Ty split a couple of English muffins and put them in the toaster.
"Thank you..." I said, fidgeting with the frayed sleeve of the oversized shirt. "Ty?"
"Hm?"
"What, uh... what happened last night?" I glanced at Justin and then at Ty's broad back. He still wore the same leather jacket. I wondered, with a smile, if he slept in it.
"You don't remember?" He still had his back to me, his voice tinged with anger.
"Not really, sorry... I just remember a... a big fight..."
"Yeah. And your lousy piece of shit boyfriend fuckin' left without you." Ty still had his back to me as he shook his head. "I was in the parking lot when he left. I saw his cowardly ass get in his fuckin' Beemer and peel out without you." He snorted softly. "After you'd gone in there to try and save him. A scrawny chick like you. Not even armed." He shook his head once more, fussing over the eggs and bread before setting the plate down in front of me. "That's why you got knocked out, of course. A couple of guys grabbed you and just..." He gritted his teeth and turned away. "I had to get you outta there, but I didn't know what else to do. Couldn't get you an Uber in that condition, obviously. So I brought you home."
"You... you live here?" I looked around the kitchen in amazement. It, too, was clean and well-cared-for, but still kind of old and shabby. The tiles were yellowing, the countertops were out of style and the valance hanging over the window was faded. I couldn't imagine how a rough-and-tumble gangster who peddled rare vintage motorcycles for forty grand a pop was living like this. Didn't gangsters have, like, mansions and stuff? I glanced at Justin again, and he looked at me pointedly.
"Yep. Ever since I was born," said Ty.
Where were the marble floors, the champagne fountains, the gaggles of big-breasted, scantily clad women? This guy, his house, and his disabled kid brother defied every preconceived notion I'd ever had about biker gangs. It kinda made my head hurt. I rested my temple against my hand and started picking
at the breakfast in front of me. My appetite wasn't great, but I didn't want to insult him by refusing.
Ty sat down with a plate for himself and set a plate in front of Justin with nothing but a dry English muffin on it. It took Justin a good twenty seconds to even be able to pick the thing up in his spasming fingers. I tried not to stare as he negotiated the bread to his mouth, struggling for every inch of the gap he closed. He took a bite and seemed to have a difficult time chewing, too. Jesus, does this kid ever get a break? I thought to myself.
"What, never seen someone with cerebral palsy before?" Ty snapped, glaring at me. I guess I had been staring.
"Uh... actually, no, I... I guess I haven't," I said, feeling like a jerk. "Sorry."
Justin said something and Ty scoffed. "You're just saying that cause she's cute."
Justin made a noise that sounded like agreement.
"You know, his mind is perfect," Ty said, his voice quiet, but fierce, as he picked up the crumbled English muffin and fed a piece of it to his brother. "It's so fucked up, isn't it? I know he looks all skinny and weak and he talks all retarded or whatever, but that's just how his brain works. Damage to his, like... you know—"
"Motor cortex?" I offered, hearkening back to my anatomy and physiology classes.
"Yeah." Ty took a few bites of his own food while Justin struggled to chew a single mouthful. "But the mind inside? Perfectly normal, just like any other healthy human being. But nobody treats him normal because of how he looks and sounds. But he's smart as hell. One of these days, I'm gonna get the money to send your ass to college. Someone in this family's gotta be educated."
"What do you want to study at college, Justin?" I piped in, deciding, in that moment, that even if I was uncomfortable around the guy, I was going to do everything in my power to treat Justin like any other boy my age.
"I wahn be a... doc—oc—"
"Doc Ock? I think that job's taken," Ty teased with a perfectly straight face.
"Doctuh," Justin managed to spit out, nudging Ty's leg with his foot— the Justin equivalent of arm punching, I surmised.
Trust Me: A Bad Boy MC Romance Page 3
