“Vic.” Matt grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
For a moment Vic thought he’d protest. Don’t go, he’d say, or wait for the police. This wasn’t his fight. He’d heard it so often, he could argue Matt’s position easily enough. But Vic couldn’t just sit by when someone needed him. He had the strength to stop those jerks from doing whatever they were doing to Roger—even without Matt’s powers, Vic wouldn’t have been able to ignore the man’s plea. “Matty…”
Before he could say anything else, Matt silenced him with a quick kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. “Be safe.”
Vic didn’t wait for Matt to change his mind. He took off through the soccer field at a dead run, heading for the trees and the tennis courts beyond.
* * * *
For a large man, Vic could move silently when it suited him. When he reached the evergreens, he ducked through their branches as quietly as he could, inching forward to assess the situation. He could hear Roger cursing, a steady stream of expletives occasionally punctuated with, “Stop it, will you?” and “I’m gonna…” The rest of his threats were drowned out in vicious laughter Vic knew belonged to those two overweight punks who had been on his bus earlier that evening. He was looking forward to kicking their drunk asses.
As he cleared the trees, his super powered vision allowed him to see the scene before him as if the tennis courts were ablaze with light, even though they were still hidden in darkness. One jerk held the handlebars of Roger’s manual wheelchair and stood on a short wire rack behind the seat. His friend pushed him along, building up speed until he couldn’t run any longer and shoving hard against his back to send both he and the wheelchair soaring across the court. Roger sat frightened in the chair, hands gripping the arm rests as he struggled to stay seated. When they reached one end of the court, the men switched places, zooming back the way they had come.
Pure rage flooded Vic. He wanted to tear right through the thin wire fence surrounding the court and grab those two assholes, one in each hand, to beat their thick heads together in the hope of knocking some sense into them. But before he could do that, he saw the gate in the fence and turned on his heel, changing direction. As satisfying as it might be to feel the fence tear beneath his hands, he wouldn’t be able to explain it when the police arrived. Stepping through the open gate, he felt Matt’s super strength flood his arms and legs as he started across the court.
Bob and Mick were at the far end of the court, whirling Roger’s chair around for another crossing. This time, one of the wheels turned wrong and the chair shuddered, stuck. Roger lurched forward and Mick, holding the wheelchair, pitched him forward again to dump him out. Roger held on, cursing. “Fuck! Let go! Get off my chair and leave me the hell alone!”
Mick tipped the chair a second time as Bob howled with laughter. When Roger still didn’t fall, Bob began kicking at the arm rests, forcing Roger to release his grip if he didn’t want to get his fingers smashed. It took another two tries before they managed it, but eventually Roger tumbled to the ground, crying out in pain when his shoulder hit the pavement.
Even then, he didn’t give up the fight. As Bob dropped into the wheelchair, Roger clawed at his assailant’s legs, snagging a fist full of Bob’s pants and trying to pull him from the seat. “Get off me!” Bob squealed, kicking out. His boot connected with Roger’s chest, pushing the disabled veteran away.
Then Vic was there. Coming up behind Mick, he sent a hard punch low into Mick’s back, right at his kidney, which sent the man crumpling to the ground. As he fell, Vic kicked him aside, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Roger crawl toward the drunk. Wrapping an arm around Mick’s neck, Roger got him in a chokehold that put him out of commission.
With both hands, Vic grabbed the wheelchair and, in one swift movement, lifted it as he turned it upside down. Bob was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, cowering when Vic brought the wheelchair down hard onto his head. He wanted to strike again—something in him was close to snapping, and Vic wanted nothing more than to pound this lowlife into the ground with the metal contraption in his hands—but Roger needed that chair to get around and Vic didn’t want to damage it more than it had been already. So he settled for kicking Bob in the side, his steel-toed work boot crunching bone where it connected with Bob’s ribs.
Satisfied, Vic set down the wheelchair and offered Roger a hand as he climbed back into it. “Thanks,” Roger sighed, brushing his hair from his sweaty face. He didn’t quite meet Vic’s gaze, as if he were embarrassed to be found in such a predicament—instead, he frowned at the men writhing on the ground and muttered, “I mean, really. If you hadn’t—”
“It’s cool,” Vic assured him. “Look, Matt called the cops so I’m sure they’re on the way. It’s been a long day for me, and I’d rather not be around when they arrive.” The flashing lights would be murder on his dilated pupils, and even if his friend Kendra were on the scene, he didn’t need to appear in yet another crime report. Dropping a hand to Roger’s shoulder, he said, “If you can take it from here, I’d just as soon you didn’t mention my name or anything, you know?”
Now Roger looked at him, a grin on his face. “They won’t think I did this—”
“Are you kidding?” Vic asked, grinning himself now. “You knocked that guy out with your bare hands. That’s damn sharp, man. Damn sharp.”
Even in the darkness, Vic could see the color rising to Roger’s face. “Well, some things stay with you, I guess.”
“Another couple minutes and you would’ve had them both,” Vic assured him. “I only helped out some. You going to be all right here by yourself?”
Roger nodded. “Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. Thanks again.”
Vic clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem.”
In the distance, the sound of sirens pierced the night and Vic crossed the court, heading back to his car and the promise of picking up where he and Matt had left off once they got home.
TO BE CONTINUED…
* * * *
ABOUT J.M. SNYDER
A multi-published author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J.M. Snyder began writing boyband slash before turning to self-publishing. She has worked with several different e-publishers, including Amber Allure Press, Aspen Mountain Press, eXcessica Publishing, and Torquere Press, and has short stories published in anthologies by Alyson Books, Aspen Mountain Press, Cleis Press, eXcessica Publishing, Lethe Press, and Ravenous Romance. For more information, including excerpts, free stories, and monthly contests, please visit jmsnyder.net.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small electronic press specializing in gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender fiction (including erotica, romance, and young adult), as well as popular and literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. While our preference is for GLBT stories, we accept stories containing any and all sexualities, as well as general fiction without a romantic subplot. Visit our site at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
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