The two men have me sandwiched, unable to move as their hands begin to wander.
“Get your hands off me,” I warn, though my words are weak and my voice shaky as it becomes increasingly apparent that I’m not only outnumbered, I’m also out muscled. No wayam I going to be able to fight my way out of this.
Even above the music and the chants from the crowd, I can still hear my heartbeat in my eardrums.
“Stop!” I shout as the guy behind me slips his hand down the front of my jeans, cupping me roughly and tears spring into my eyes.
The guy in front of me chuckles. “I don’t think you really want us to stop do you, precious?”
“Fuck, I bet your pussy is so fucking tight,” the guy behind me grumbles into my ear as his fingers spread me open.
“Stop!” I shout louder, driving my knee up into Al’s junk as hard as I can and he stumbles, clutching his dick as he doubles over.
A beer bottle dangles from someone’s hand to the right of me and I stretch to reach it. I rip it from the guy’s hand and swing it behind me as the glass shatters against my groper’s head.
His hand disappears from inside my jeans as he clutches his head that’s pouring with blood.
The noise from the crowd seems to grow louder, boos filling the space. I only hope that means Killian is winning.
I go to run but Al curls a hand around my arm, dragging me back. “You little cunt!” he spits, and before I can prepare myself, the back of his hand cracks across my cheek, the force of it radiating across my face. He grips my chin roughly between his thick fingers, forcing me to face him. “You’ll pay for that. Let’s see if we can put this mouth to better use.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” a voice says, and in a split-second, Al’s fingers are ripped away from me and a second later, he’s on the floor, taking a couple of other people down with him as the crowd around us disperses.
A hand wraps around mine and I look up to find Killian standing in front of me. I could cry with relief. He glares at the man standing behind me and I’m tugged out of the way, positioned safely behind Killian.
The thinner guy who just had his hand down my pants comes for Killian, swinging out at him but Killian blocks him, and with one swift, sharp blow to his face, his head whips around so far I’m sure he must have snapped his neck as he collapses to the ground, motionless.
In the commotion, everyone around us has shifted their attention from the cage and watches on in stunned silence.
Killian turns to me, lifting my chin gently with his finger, his eyes zooming in on the bruise I’m assuming is blossoming across my cheek, and his expression turns murderous. He goes to speak but movement out the corner of my eye catches my attention.
“Killian!” I shout as Al attempts to rise to his feet. He goes to push himself up off the floor, but Killian is there and kicks him back down again so he’s lying flat on his back.
Killian crouches over him, the guy’s collar wrapped tight in his fist. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end you right now.”
“She wanted it, man. You’re girlfriend’s a little cock tease.”
“Does she fucking look like she wanted it, asshole?” Killian spits.
Al glances over at me, noting my tear-soaked face and the tremble in my body and heactuallyhas the gall to smirk.
“They all pretend they don’t want it, b—” he doesn’t get a chance to finish before Killian’s fist smashes into his face. Over and over again.
It’s like watching a wild animal as he pummels the guy onthe floor who’s now bleeding and unconscious.
“Killian, stop.Stop,” I cry, reaching for his arm to pull him away and after dispensing one final punch, Killian finally lets up and turns to face me. “He’s not worth it,” I tell him.
He considers my words for a moment before he tosses one final glance at the men on the floor before barging past me, heading for the exit as I hurry after him.
14
The cool evening air prickles my heated skin as I burst out of the stuffy barn. It’s dark out and I’m thankful there’s no one around because with the level of rage coursing through my veins, I daresay not even Mother Theresa would be safe from me should she pop up from behind my truck.
It rolls off me in waves, my body physically vibrating and if I was a kid’s cartoon, I’d have steam billowing out of my ears, I’m sure.
I slam my fists down on the hood of my truck as a torrent of memories I’ve buried down deep resurface, hitting me like a tsunami as they flash through mymind. Memories from a day that changed the course of my life forever. I’m that seventeen-year-old kid again, innocent and totally out of his depth, standing with the solid brass lamp from the sideboard clutched tightly in my fist, covered in blood. Images of that man towering above her on the sofa, pinning her down flash through my mind. The clothes strewn across the living room floor. Her slurred drunken words that pleaded for him to stop, her hands pushing at him weakly.
The sound of the crack the lamp made against that fucker’s skull snaps me back to reality as I punch through the driver’s side window of my truck, the glass shattering into thousands of tiny pieces.
