“Can you not touch that? The owner would freak out if he saw.” Flashes of Saiden picking the man up and flinging him into the field traipsed through her brain.
Beer Belly paused his exploration over the hood, ran one hand through his greasy brown hair, and flashed her a grin. “The owner, huh? That not you?”
“No. It belongs to a friend.” Beer Belly’s grin was starting to unnerve her so she added, “My boyfriend, actually. He’s an MMA fighter. Super violent. Probably a good idea to keep your hands off. He’ll be back any second too, so I don’t need any help. Thank you, though.”
To Cora’s pleasant surprise, Beer Belly’s smile dropped away, and he took a step back from the car. She always thought she was an awful liar, but maybe spending time around her cast was paying off if he believed her story.
Any delight she felt faded when Beer Belly didn’t retreat to his junker, and the emotion promptly morphed into fear when he sauntered around the front of the car toward her side.
“Ya know,” Beer Belly mused, his eyes crawling up and down her body in a way that felt much more lascivious then when Saiden did it. “A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t be out here all alone. How’s about I keep you company until this boyfriend gets back?”
Cora edged away, trying and failing to keep the unease off her face. “That’s not a good idea. He can be really crazy sometimes. You should really leave now for your own safety.”
Beer Belly matched her retreat with his own leisurely steps forward. “Ya know, I don’t think you got a boyfriend. I think you’re waiting for a tow truck all by your lonesome. So how’s about I make you a deal? You give me the keys without a fuss, and I’ll leave you be. If you decide you want to fight me… Let’s just say I got a knife in my truck that can be very convincing.”
Cora glanced around frantically, briefly calculating the odds of someone seeing her and stopping to help. The cars all raced by so fast that she doubted anyone who even noticed what was happening couldslow in time to pull over.
“There aren’t any keys,” she replied, hoping she could stall long enough for Saiden to get back. She despised the damsel in distress mentality, but taking up kickboxing had never been in the cards for her. She made a mental note to keep a knife on her from now on if she survived.
Beer Belly cocked his head. “No keys? All cars got keys, darlin’.”
“Not this one,” she protested. “There’s only a fob and a button in the center console. Take a look for yourself.”
She honestly didn’t think her obvious ploy would work, but she wasted no time bolting off into the field the second Beer Belly turned to look inside the window. Pumping her legs as fast as possible, she raced toward the half fence just off the side of the road. Likely designed for keeping the cattle in, it appeared low enough she could vault right over it and continue toward the tree line where she might be able to hide.
She was seconds from slamming her hands down on the wooden railing to propel her jump when a blood-curdling scream filled the air. Her steps faltered at the unholy sound, and she plowed straight into the fence, only to bounce off and land flat on her back. A position that gave her the perfect view as Beer Belly went flying through the sky and crashed to a heap ten yards into the field, the sickening crunch of bones breaking audible even over the traffic.
Cora scrambled to her knees and whipped her head around.
Saiden was back.
Chapter twenty-one
Saiden
Saiden was going to murder someone. Most likely the cashier at the backwoods auto shop who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.
“Just one second, sir. I think I got this,” the barely post-pubescent teen muttered as he tapped at his phone. “Sorry for the wait, but we just got this new square reader to take credit cards. Good thing you didn’t show up last week when we were still cash only.”
Saiden tightened his grip on the edge of the counter, only letting up when he felt the wood start to crack under the might of his frustration. His mate was alone on the side of the road. Everything in his body screamed to return to her, to just take the damn air pump and mail the store a check later.
The last of his patience dissolved right as the kid grinned.
“There it goes. You’re all set, sir. Have a good day.” The cashier handed over Saiden’s credit card along with the air pump.
The effort required to not grab the item and blur out of the store was nearly herculean, but Saiden managed to control his steps until he rounded the small shop. After confirming there were no prying eyesaround, he took off, pushing his vampire speed to the limit so he could get back to his mate.
Saiden stared down at Cora, regretting his decision not to crush the man’s neck with his bare hands.
When he’d arrived back at the car just in time to see his mate fleeing the advances of what could only be referred to as a hog in human form, something inside him snapped. Every bit of his training that told him to never kill a human vanished as the intensity of Cora’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.
He’d reacted without thinking, dropping the air pump and snatching the man by the belt and back of his neck. The portly, unwashed assailant had to be pushing 350 pounds, but in a vampire’s hands he was little more than a football begging to be tossed. Saiden was only too happy to oblige, so he’d sent the man spiraling toward the field and the cows he so clearly belonged with if smell was any indication.
Now that he was seeing his mate up close, he wished he could have watched the light drain from the man’s eyes as he left this world, felt the body go slack in his arms, firm in the knowledge that this waste of space would never harm another female.
Kneeling down beside Cora, he slid one hand under her neck and the other under her back to help her up to a sitting position. He took in her red face, pounding heart, and mussed hair. Her shirt was torn near her stomach, and a glance at the fence confirmed a bit of fabric dangling from a nail. Thankfully, he smelled no blood to indicate thatmore than her clothing had fallen victim to the rusty bit of metal.
Which was the assailant’s only saving grace. If his mate suffered even a single scratch, he would paint the freeway from here to Sacramento red with the man’s blood.
