Her hands shoot up, her green eyes wide with terror.
The elderly couple in the booth squeezes themselves further against the window.
I pull the glovebox open, smacking Gunnar’s knee with the door, and grab my gun. I nod at Gunnar and step out of the car, shoving it into the back of my pants.
Wrong night. Wrong girl, asshole.
Opening the diner door, I step inside and head right toward the dead man threatening Lennon.
He spins around, but I’m already five feet from him. He’s now pointing the gun in my face.
Good.
I’ve got four inches and about a hundred pounds on this douchebag. I get a good look at his eyes. He’s not high. He’s just stupid. There’s a gang tattoo on the side of his neck over the tendon that’s now tight with anger.
“Step the fuck back or I’ll blow a hole in your face, motherfucker,” he yells, spit flying from his lips.
My gaze flicks to Lennon. Her face is so pale that the light dusting of freckles over her nose is standing out. I wink at her, and her light green eyes widen even more.
“Did you hear me, asshole?” He screams, making the mistake of taking a step toward me.
Disarming wanna-be gangsters quickly is one of my specialties. I have his gun twisted from his hand and his arm shoved behind his back before he registers his new predicament. I grind his gun into the back of his skull, itching to pull the trigger. “Don’t even twitch,” I growl into his ear. Then I turn my attention to Lennon. “You okay?”
She nods. Then leans her hands on the counter, her knees buckling beneath her. Definitely not okay.
“Be right back, Angel.” I push the guy’s arm up further on his back, eliciting a string of curses from him, and march him out the door. No way I’m going to traumatize Lennon with this asshole’s blood.
Gunnar is waiting. He beats the guy in the head with his gun until the guy falls to the pavement in a heap of unconscious dipshit and blood. Head wounds are the worst. The scalp bleeds like a motherfucker. We both look at the borrowed car and I shrug.
“We’ll throw him a few bucks for cleaning.”
Gunnar shakes his head as he drags the guy toward the trunk.
“Take him to the warehouse. I’m going to drive Lennon home. You can leave him with a guard. I’ll be there in a bit.”
When I step back into the diner, there’s a short, dark-haired man, wearing a soiled apron, standing beside Lennon. His hand is on her shoulder. I stride over and glare at him.
He jerks his hand away like her shoulder burned him.
I turn my gaze on Lennon, assessing her. She’s got her arms wrapped around her middle. She’s too still, her eyes too wide.
Shit.
“Lennon.” I keep my voice low and soft. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine and a shudder rolls through her body. “Sandro?”
“Get your things, I’m taking you home.”
Her pupils are blown. She’s in shock. “I… I have to close up.”
I nod toward the man standing stiffly at her side, his eyes locked on me like I’m the threat. To be fair, if he touches her again, I will be. “I’m sure this gentleman can close up. Right?” I glare at him.
He is still eyeing me warily. “We should call the police,” he says.
I drop my mask, showing him the rage simmering in my eyes. “No police. I’ll take care of it. You understand me?”
He takes an involuntary step back, his head bobbing quickly. “Yeah yeah. Got it.’
