Miller turned toward him, eyes huge.“For God’s sake Sam, get the hell outta here!You can’t help me, and these guys could actuallykillyou.”
The rednecks overheard Miller.“Oh, we won’t kill your girlfriend, Miller.S’not nice to pick on someone weaker, don’t cha know.Not like he can hurt any of us,” the driver sneered.The other bashers laughed at his wit.The driver looked pleased with himself and hitched his waistband up a couple inches.It immediately slunk back below his belly, and his gut popped back out, taking its rightful place in the world.
Sam felt a white-hot flash of fear and adrenaline that burned away all his numbness.He’d seen Marley’s waistband do that about a million times, right after Marley insulted him.“I can’t, huh?”He sneered right back, reaching for his back pocket, so mad his fingers trembled.
Everyone froze, and Sam could feel the tension in the air.And—yes!—the fear.These fuckers were afraid of him!
But why?
“You got agun?”Miller mumbled out the side of his mouth.
“No!Where would I get a gun?”Sam whispered, pulling out his cell phone.
It was like waving a red flag at a group of bulls.The redneck herd charged them.Sam had never texted so fast in his life.Thumbs of fury, he thought, giggling hysterically while listening to feet pound toward him.
He got off a message to Nik, the last person he’d texted.Getting bashed in alley behind drugstore.Shit, what if he thought it was a line from an Exposed Innerds song?No time to worry about that.He only got partway through texting Ian when someone punched him in the chest so hard his feet left the ground, and he landed on his back.
Oh, sothisis what it’s like to get the breath knocked out of you.He lay on his side, blinking, trying to remember how to breathe while he watched Miller get his ass kicked.
Miller wasn’t a huge guy, but the height he did have was muscle-bound.Sam was no expert, but it looked like Miller did some damage before the five guys surrounding him got him on the ground and started kicking him.He was pretty sure that meant Miller was losing.
It was incredibly brutal.Sam may have been the original ninety-pound weakling, but he couldn’t just watch a guy get kicked in the gut and kidneys by an endless stream of pointy-toed cowboy boots and notdosomething.He struggled up on his arms as soon as he got his breath back.He was on wobbly legs when the guy with the baseball bat raised it over his head, ready to crack open Miller’s skull.
Sam didn’t think—he just jumped the guy, grabbing the arm with the bat.He got thrown off immediately, but at least he’d distracted the batter.He could tell because the batter now turned and came for him.Oh, that was fucking stupid.Except not, because otherwise Miller could have died.
On the other hand, now the guy with the bat wanted to smash Sam’s head in.The rest of the redneck horde had stopped kicking Miller to spectate.Sam leapt to his feet and started backing away, hands in front of him, like he was trying to placate a bear.Which he’d rather be doing, given the choice.
“Here, faggot-faggot-faggot,” the guy sang out.“Come and get the bat.Maybe, if you’re a cooperative little faggot, you can take it up the ass instead of on thecabeza.”
Like that was some kind of choice?“No fucking way!”
The guy shrugged, holding the bat in a swinger’s stance.“Up to you,boy.”
Shit.What did one do in this situation?Go down fighting?Make peace with one’s creator?Backing away slowly seemed like a good option.But every time Sam took a step back, Slugger took a step forward.After about thirty seconds of that, he swung.Sam cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing smashed in his face.Laughter taunted him.
The dude wasmessingwith him, feinting to see Sam freak out.Things just kept getting better.
“Sam!”Oh thankGod.Nik’s voice.Sam turned his head toward the street, taking another step back.
He set his foot down on something that rolled out from under his heel, knocking him off-balance.As he flailed his arms, trying to keep from going down, he saw Jurgen coming for the rednecks, his face the stuff of nightmares.A demon’s mask, if demons were in the business of ripping apart gay bashers with their bare hands.Sam didn’t get to see that part of it, though.Something hit him in the side of the head, everything went white, and then he felt his brain bounce around in his skull.Unconsciousness welcomed him with red and blue emergency lights.
Ian picked a bar near his office where lots of professional guys went after work.He’d even seen some gay guys in there, but it wasn’t a gay bar, just the kind of place where no one got in your shit.Tierney made for the bartender the second they were through the door, and had ordered two beers and a shot of whiskey before Ian sat on the stool next to him.“You want a shot, too?”he asked Ian, not quite looking at him.
“No, thanks.”
They waited silently for their drinks, Tierney rigid and staring straight ahead.No one sat near them, so it was semi-private.When the bartender brought their order, Tierney downed his shot, chugged half his beer, then slumped on his stool.“Gonna need another beer,” he told the bartender before the guy was ten feet off.
Ian raised an eyebrow and sipped his beer.Tierney seemed a wee-bit stressed.He felt surprisingly relaxed.Whatever happened, he knew two things: he was already out, and he could still take Tierney in a fight.
Not that it would come to that.But just in case it did.
Tierney finished his first beer and started on his second, drinking it slower.“I’m sorry, man,” he said, fingers twirling a beer coaster on the bar.
Well, hell.“Guess I can see why you took it hard.”
Tierney snorted.“Kind of a surprise, yeah.”
“Sorry.”Ian wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed like the best thing.He didn’t have to mean it.“Your reaction was worse than I expected.”
