Fierce

by Wild, Clarissa

  I don’t even look at them when I walk to the door and go outside, but I know they spotted me. I hear them talking as the door closes, and I increase my pace to get away from the restaurant as fast as possible.

  Tucking my hands in my coat, I hurry across the street. Behind me is the sound of footsteps. It keeps speeding up, faster and faster, and the noise makes my heart go haywire. They’re following me.

  “Hey girl, where are you going?” one of them yells.

  I ignore them and keep on walking. Just keep walking, don’t pay any attention. Maybe they’ll go away. Maybe I can outrun them.

  But their footsteps come closer, and I can hear there are more with each step I take. They’re laughing, and when I turn my head I see it’s all of them.

  Shit. They’re coming after me.

  Fuck, what do I do?

  I start running, but they do too.

  “Come here!” one of them yells.

  And then they catch up to me.

  One of them grabs my wrist, and I scream.

  A tug of war begins between them, my purse, and my coat. Zipping open my purse, I take out the pepper spray my dad told me to carry with me, just in case. But I’m not quick enough, and they snatch it from my hand before I can use it.

  They’re jerking my coat open, and I fight to keep it on. I clench my arms together and struggle to hold onto my stuff.

  Just one large pull is all it takes for them to jerk away my purse. It lands on the asphalt ground and the contents come spilling out. I look around to see if there’s anyone around, but the streets are empty.

  Nobody can help me.

  I’m all alone, trying to fight monsters in the darkness.

  A guy shoves the others away and grabs me by the arms so tight I shriek. His breath stinks of alcohol, and the way he smiles makes me want to puke.

  “C’mon, little pussycat,” he says, and he rips my coat open, tearing apart the buttons. “What are you hiding under there?”

  No, no, no! This can’t happen. Not like this. I don’t want it to be like this.

  I scream as loud as I can, so loud my lungs burn.

  He puts his hand on my mouth and whispers, “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

  I open my mouth and bite down on his finger hard enough to make him bleed.

  “Fuck!” he screams, and he jerks away his hand.

  I can still taste his nasty blood in my mouth. The filth sends bile up my throat.

  And then his hand comes down upon my face.

  My glasses are flung off and land somewhere on the ground.

  The pain of the mark he left on me is hot, burning hot, and it stings on my skin. I can’t believe this is happening.

  Tears run down my face, and I plead, “Please, don’t. Please, let me go.”

  They all start laughing, and the one I bit is licking his lips. “Not after what you just did.”

  I scream as loud as I can once the guy starts unbuckling his belt as the other ones restrain me.

  Closing my eyes, I pray for safety. I need to be away. Away from here. Away from my mind. I can’t see this. I don’t want to be here. I just can’t.

  And as I zone out of this world, I hear a familiar voice screaming his lungs out.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  My eyes flash open at the sound of his voice. When I see his white-hot face as he storms over to us I think I’m dreaming.

  It feels so unreal. Is he really here?

  Is he here to save me? Please tell me he is.

  “Get the fuck away from her! Right. Now!” he screams as he approaches.

  The guy I bit stops fiddling with his trousers and turns around only to be smacked right in the face by Hunter.

  He lands a powerful strike on his jaw, and the man staggers and falls down backward on the ground.

  “You fucking son of a bitch!” Hunter yells. “Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on her again.” He spits on the ground, and before I realize it the guys let me go and go for Hunter.

  They jump on him like a rabid pack of hyenas, pounding in on him without restraint.

  Hunter tries to fight them off, throwing punches as much as he can. One of them is hit in the stomach and starts puking just because of his hit. Another one is kicked in the nuts and staggers away. But someone else hits Hunter with his elbow, straight in the nose.

  “No!” I scream, as I grab my coat and try to pull everything together.

  Hunter fights his way through the group of guys, screaming flurries of swearwords at them.

  “I’ll kill you! You dickhead!” the one lying on the floor comes to and starts pounding in on Hunter, too.

  “Stop it!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. “Stop it, stop it!”

  But they won’t.

  They keep fighting each other. Blood is scattered all over the ground and smeared all over their faces. Including Hunter’s.

  “You motherfucker. Think you can stop us?” the guy yells as he strikes Hunter. “We take what we want, when we want it. You don’t get to fucking intervene!”

  Hunter barely evades the next punch and makes a quick turn to punch the guy in the side.

  He throws out some more jabs, as if he’s a professional. His strikes are calculated, fast, and hit the weakest spots on their bodies, forcing them to back up for a second. He goes on like a raging bull, never quitting, never giving up.

  “Run!” he screams, his eyes momentarily focusing on me.

  My brain tells me to run like hell, but my gut tells me I shouldn’t. How can I? I can’t leave him. He’s fighting because of me. He’s the one who saved me. I can’t leave him to his fate.

  “This is your life now, rookie. Just like it’s ours. Get used to it,” one of the guys says to Hunter, and he spits on the ground.

  “I won’t let you fucking hurt her,” Hunter growls.

  “If you mess with us, you can pay the price with your life,” the guy I bit snarls. “We. Demand. Respect.”

  I stare at the men fighting each other, brutally going at it. I can’t even see Hunter anymore, as he’s pushed down to the ground. They’re going all out. Nobody’s going to stop unless I do something.

  Some crazy idea in my head tells me to grab my purse and take out the pepper spray, but I notice it’s lying on the ground, just like all my other stuff.

  It doesn’t even take me a second to make the decision.

  My instincts take over, and I make a run for it and grab my stuff and the spray. Turning around toward our attackers, I step into the fight and start randomly spraying them until the bottle is empty. It feels good to hear them scream and see the tears in their eyes.

  A bitter revenge.

  They yell and scream, throwing their arms around in a fit of rage. They’re temporarily blinded by the stuff.

  This is my chance.

  I grab Hunter’s arm and haul him up from the floor. He can barely stand, busted by the beating, but I force him to come with me. I can’t leave him here. I have to save him, too.

  I have no idea how I manage to do this, but I get him out of the crowd and pull him away.

  He limps and leans on me, while I drag him to safety, far away from the group. We enter a nearby park and dive deep into the forested area.

  His arm is around my shoulder, and I support his back with my arm. His body is heavy, and I can barely help him get to a tree. There, he slumps and sinks down to the trunk.

  We’re both exhausted, breathing heavily. I sink to my knees and put my purse on the ground, panting.

  I feel miserable, sick to my stomach. Those guys were touching me, trying to tear open my clothes. Trying to take away the thing that was mine to give.

  The tears start flowing again, and I lower my head and bury it between my arms. For a moment I just don’t want to exist.

  And then I feel his hand on me.

  He’s caressing my head, petting my hair. His fingers are warm and soothing.

  “They tried to … they wanted to …�
� I stammer.

  “I know …” he says softly. His voice is hoarse and croaky, and he coughs.

  I lift my head. It takes one look at him to immediately feel the pity.

  Tears still sting my eyes, but I force them away when I see Hunter’s bloodied face. He looks even more miserable than me. His eyes are swollen, his lip is torn, and blood covers half his face. His face is swelling up and turning blue, and his nose seems crooked.

  I gasp. “Oh my God …”

  Coughing up blood, he tries to move, but winces instead.

  “Don’t move,” I say, and I crawl closer.

  Rummaging in my purse, I find a band aid and peel it. He has a wide slash on his left eyebrow, so I cover it up. But before I can continue my work on him, I hear a noise that alarms me.

  Voices. Footsteps.

  My breath hitches.

  It’s them.

  “Why did you … why did you do that? Why did you help me?” Hunter says. The words come out in a slur, as if he can barely talk.

  “Shh …” I say, and I put my finger to my lips. “They can’t know we’re here.”

  Hunter never takes his eyes off me as they saunter past the forest, seemingly still capable of walking. I hear them swear and yell, while my heart thumps in my throat.

  “Motherfucker! You’ll pay for this!” one of them screams. “See you in the arena.”

  I wait until they pass before breathing again. “We have to get out of here. Fast.”

  Chapter 9

  Mending the Broken

  I don’t know for the life of me how I managed to haul him all the way back to campus and to the dorm, but I made it. I’m tired as hell, but I won’t give up now that I’m almost there.

  Hunter’s nose is bleeding, leaving bloodstains on the carpet as we go upstairs. I drag him to the bathroom closest to my room and set him down on the toilet. His face is covered in blood, and it doesn’t take long for the bathroom to look like a crime scene.

  I snatch a few rolls of toilet paper standing on the table and rip some off. I grab a stool standing in the corner and sit down next to him. Dabbing the cotton against his face, I check if his nose is really broken. He winces when I touch him, but doesn’t cry out in pain. He refuses to show me any pain.

  How very noble of him.

  “I have to call an ambulance,” I say.

  I turn to fetch my cell phone from my purse, but Hunter grabs my wrist and stops me from moving.

  “Don’t. I don’t want to go there. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the cops will be asking questions, and I don’t want to answer them.” His nostrils flare and he cracks his knuckles.

  I smash my lips together out of frustration. “But you’re hurt.”

  “Please …” he says.

  He looks genuinely worried. As if he’s afraid, or something. And it sounds like he’s begging me.

  “All right.”

  He visibly relaxes, his muscles straining less.

  I sit back down on the stool and tend to him. He keeps his eyes solely on me, while I inspect his nose. It’s not broken, luckily. I clean his face gently, making sure I don’t press too hard on his bruises. I open the faucet, poor some cold water over a handful of paper, and wipe the blood from his face.

  My vision is blurry, though. I don’t have my glasses anymore. They got thwacked off during the fight, and we had to run before I could search for them. Dammit, this would be so much easier with my glasses.

  Hunter just sits there, studying me, breathing in and out like he’s trying to calm down. His chest heaves, and he coughs again. “God … it’s hot in here.”

  “No, it’s not.” I put my hand on his forehead and don’t feel an unusual temperature. He must still be overheated from the fight.

  Then he hooks his fingers under his vest and pulls it over his head.

  Oh. My. God.

  My pupils dilate as he takes off the top half of his clothes, leaving only bare skin for me to see. I try not to look too dumbstruck when he throws it to the floor and gazes back at me. But I can’t stop my eyes from zoning in on his perfect body.

  Those thick pectorals, solid abs, and huge biceps draw my attention like a bee that has found his flower. Especially those V-lines …

  My God. I can’t stop staring.

  My heart is thudding in my chest, and my throat is dry. I swallow away the lump in my throat. I have to fight the urge to touch those deliciously taut muscles.

  I’ve never actually seen anyone this strong and lean before. Well, at least not partially naked.

  He lets out a groan as he moves his body to sit more comfortably. The raw, masculine sound sends shivers down my spine.

  But when I look at him, I feel bad. He looks busted and bruised all over, and I feel sorry for him.

  It’s my fault he’s hurt.

  He protected me. He was the one who saved me. He got into a fight for me.

  The least I can do is mend his wounds.

  “Be right back,” I say, and I rush out of the bathroom.

  I make my way to my own dorm room and find it empty. Evie must still be studying somewhere, which means I won’t be bothered for some time.

  Good.

  I need to fix Hunter’s wounds and I can’t have anyone distracting me right now.

  Rummaging through my closet, I find the first aid kit I stocked for emergency cases such as these. I take out the entire box and hurry back to Hunter.

  He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, holding his own head in his hands.

  “Fuck,” he says quietly as the bleeding starts again.

  “I’ve got this,” I say, and throw all the contents of the box in the sink. It’s at times like these that I’m glad my mother taught me all the things I need to know so that I’d be independent.

  First I take the bottle of pure alcohol and drown a few cotton balls in it.

  When I turn around and sit down again, he stares up at me, waiting for me to do something.

  “This’ll hurt. A lot,” I say before I dab the cotton balls against the wounds on his face.

  He hisses. “Fuck! Jesus Christ! What are you doing?”

  Slamming his fist against the wall next to us, he lets out a huge breath. I almost jolt up from the noise. He’s so aggressive and angry. Sometimes it scares me.

  “Cleaning your wound with alcohol.”

  He calms down once I’m done. I grab a few dressings and cover up his slashes with them. Then I start wrapping a bandage around his head.

  “Do I have to wear this?” he says when I’m almost done.

  “Yes. You’ve got a big gash on your forehead. Doesn’t look pretty. It needs to heal.”

  He groans, annoyed.

  “How are your knuckles?” I ask, because I know they must hurt after all those punches.

  “Fine.”

  Of course that’s a lie. Men and their pride.

  He leans back on the toilet, resting his head against the wall. He opens his hands, spreading out his fingers, and gives me access. He looks at me intently as I grab his hand.

  The moment my skin makes contact with his, I feel fuzzy and weak, like a meek girl. The way he feels is amazing, so warm, and his hands are almost twice the size of mine. My hand could fit into his perfectly.

  If I could ever hold it.

  I swallow from the nerves and try not to tremble as I check his hands for bruises and cuts. His hand is tough as leather, and his fingers are so calloused, they make me remember he is a fighter in heart and soul.

  I wonder why.

  “Thanks,” he says when I let go of his hand.

  His face isn’t doleful like before; on the contrary, he actually seems grateful.

  I smile, my cheeks rushing with heat when he smiles too.

  “Where are your glasses?” he says.

  “I lost them during the fight …”

  He chuckles a little, but holds back because of the pain in his chest. “Too bad. You looked c
uter with them.”

  My eyes widen and I gasp for air. My face lights up red hot with embarrassment.

  Did he actually just say that?

  My heart is pounding. I can’t believe this. It feels so unreal. He just said I’m cute.

  Hunter Bane thinks I’m cute? Is this real?

  For some reason I burst out into giggles. And now I’m even more ashamed.

  “What?” he says. He leans forward and stares straight into my eyes. I stop laughing. My muscles tense up and I freeze. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips.

  Sweet, hot, delirious breath.

  I want to inhale it. Take him with me and never stop breathing him in.

  I want to kiss him.

  “What’s so funny?” he says. “You think I’m making a joke?” His voice is thick, like a guttural sound, and turns my bones liquid.

  I clear my throat. “No. You’re just the first to say that.”

  He leans back, and I can feel my body relaxing again.

  “Well it’s the truth,” he says.

  “Others don’t seem to think so.”

  “You shouldn’t care so much about what others think,” he says. “What you think is what matters.”

  He reaches into his pocket and takes out my glasses.

  “Oh my God, you found them! Thank you so much,” I say with a gleeful smile on my face.

  “Don’t mention it. Least I could do for you now that you’ve nursed me back to health.”

  I roll my eyes and chortle, while he hands me my glasses. Leaning forward still makes him groan, though.

  “Damn … I feel like shit,” he says, laughing.

  “You look the part.”

  “I just want to crash on my bed and sleep through the day tomorrow.”

  He gets up from the toilet and barely stays straight. I quickly put his arm around my shoulder and support him while he walks. We go to his room, and boy, it’s not what I expected.

  There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just a table, a chair, two beds, a pile of homework and books. It’s even clean.

  But what surprises me the most is the ginormous bookshelf right beside the door.

  I don’t have time to marvel at his books, because he limps forward and I have to go with him. I help him get to his bed, and he lets himself fall down on top of it.