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There was no mistaking the figures for anything but a man and a woman wrapped in an embrace, and at first glance, they might have been assumed to be sharing a passionate moment. But the woman wasn’t crying out in pleasure, and she wasn’t twisting in passion. She was struggling. She was fighting.
He didn’t think twice. Running the short distance to the couple, Damon took the man at a flying leap. The guy had been so intent on what he was doing, he obviously hadn’t heard Damon coming, so he put up absolutely no resistance.
As the woman stumbled away, Damon and the attacker flew onto the sand, rolling over and over into the thorny scrub. He lifted a fist back to pound the man in the face, recognized who it was, and checked his swing. “Jonesy?” he choked out, shocked—but somehow not entirely surprised.
“Get off,” the carny said, his eyes shifting crazily back and forth, like a cornered rabid animal. “Mind your own business. We were just having some fun.”
Judging by the screams, Damon didn’t think the woman agreed. He looked over for confirmation—or denial—and his heart stopped. Because he recognized that brown hair, that soft face, the vulnerable mouth. And saw nothing but red.
Mindless with rage, he let his fist fly, hearing the satisfying crunch of Jonesy’s nose, and maybe the snap of one or two of his own fingers. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, not even when blood from his own knuckles mingled with the blood pouring out of Jonesy’s face.
The man howled in pain. “You hit me! I’ll sue!”
“You miserable son of a bitch!” Grabbing the man by the collar, he hauled him to his feet, then drew his fist back again.
Paulie grabbed it with both hands and held tight. “I’ll see to him. Go take care of the lady.”
Noting the stricken look on Allie’s face—the tears, the red marks on her skin and what looked like blood on her neck—he felt his rage shift to concern. Giving Jonesy one last bone-rattling shake, he thrust him toward his cousin who, despite his shorter stature, was dangerous as hell, as only the dirtiest of fighters could be.
Jonesy was moaning, but Damon couldn’t hear him. He was focused only on the woman who’d been in his arms a short time ago. Slowly walking to her, he held his hands out, making sure she didn’t feel threatened, not sure how bad things had gotten.
Not that bad. It couldn’t have gone that far. Not in so short a time if she’d been at his trailer door ten minutes ago. Please let it not have gone too far. “Allie, honey?”
She flew into his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered. Curling into him, she burrowed her face in the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. Keeping her arms tucked self-protectively against her body, her hands fisted below her chin, she almost bored her way into him. She shuddered twice, as if racked with cold, but said nothing more.
Damon gently rubbed her back, his touch meant to soothe and comfort, to calm and to let her know it was over. She was safe.
Finally, she drew in a slow, deep breath, and he felt her heart rate slow to a normal rhythm. “Okay now?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t…”
“Thank God.”
“I fought, but the bastard had a knife.”
“Are you hurt?” His stomach lurched. “The blood…”
“It’s his. He nicked himself while cutting my blouse.”
Damon started to let her go, his feet already turning around so he could go back and cut Jonesy’s nuts off with his own knife.
She stopped him. “Don’t leave. Please.”
It killed him that Paulie was the one gaining the satisfaction of beating the crap out of the scumbag who’d just tried to rape a woman—a woman Damon already considered his own. But he wasn’t about to leave her alone, not when she needed him.
“What’s going on?” someone called.
Glancing up, he saw several carnival workers and troupe members descending the wooden stairs. They were staring with avid curiosity from him—with Allie in his arms—to Paulie, who was now holding Jonesy in a death grip, one arm across his throat, the other hand tangled in a fistful of his greasy hair.
The group’s strong man, a barrel-chested guy who doubled as a security guard on the road, lifted Paulie away from the would-be rapist. “I guess I don’t even need to know what happened here,” he said with a look of disgust at Jonesy.
The others, including three women who worked in the sideshow, murmured their agreement. “Glad somebody finally nailed the slimy bastard,” one of them said.
“Is the lady okay?” somebody asked. “We heard screams.”
Allie murmured against his neck. Though he wanted nothing more than to keep her safe in his arms for hours, Damon slowly let her go. Clutching her torn blouse in front of her, she turned to the others and offered them a shaky smile. “Thank you all for charging to my rescue, but I’m fine. Really.” Glancing over at Jonesy, she added, “I was about to kill him, just so you know.”
Damon didn’t doubt it. She sounded dead serious. He suspected that if Jonesy hadn’t had a knife, he would have been the one to come out bloody after a fight with this feisty young woman.
