“I won’t leave you,” she cries, her hands flying up to cover her mouth when another punch lands, the man’s fist raining into my torso. I grunt, my teeth grinding together as I push the pain from my mind.
“Luce!” she yells and steps closer, but the second man pivots in front of her, his laugh menacing as he blocks her and turns to me instead.
“Raina, GO!” I manage to yell right before the fist from the second guy connects with my jaw.
His attention is fully on me now, and it’s become two against one as one stands in front of me while the other holds onto my arms from behind.
But I don’t fight back. I don’t do anything that might cause one of them to shift their focus from me onto her. I’d take a thousand punches before diverting their attention onto her.
“Go,” I mouth. “Please.”
“Luce,” she whimpers, the streetlamp’s light casting an eerie glow over her body as she stands petrified in place. I can see the turmoil in her eyes before realization finally overtakes her beautiful features. My head hangs on my shoulders as she backs away from the scene until she disappears completely from my view, presumably back toward the club.
I can only assume she’s going back to get our friends, but at this point, I don’t care where she goes as long as it’s far away from here.
As long as she’s safe.
“Javier sends his best,” the assailant in front of me goads as the first grabs onto my jaw, forcing me to look up at them.
“Fuck you,” I spit, bucking against the man holding me. He’s not expecting it; it’s enough to somehow release my face from the first guy and give enough room for me to throw my fist into his nose.
“Fuck!” he yells, stepping back.
I’m not much of a fighter—growing up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, there was no problem money couldn’t solve, so my fists stayed clean. The basics come naturally, but the rest leaves me wishing my father had insisted on me adopting a martial art rather than learning golf as a child.
Blood gushes from the nose of the man I hit and he pinches the bridge. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he seethes, and I make a huge mistake by keeping my attention locked on him. The other guy uses it to his advantage and slams me to the ground.
My vision turns spotted as his foot connects with my ribs over and over again.
“You think you have the upper hand in this?” he hisses, kicking me again. My stomach contracts at the contact, and I grip it tight, emulating more pain than I’m actually in.
“These rich fucks are all the same.” The other guy’s nose bleeds freely, drops of crimson dripping onto the concrete just inches from where I lay, exaggerating my pain with weak moans.
“I say we finish him off and save Javier the hassle later.”
“We can’t,” his counterpart argues. “He said to rough him up, not put him six feet under.”
“That was before he broke my nose.”
“Hazards of the job,” I growl, rolling on the damp, gravely concrete, I spring onto my feet, but these assholes are quicker than I am, more experienced with fighting. The wind leaves my lungs as he gains the upper hand again, slamming his foot into my stomach with the sole of his boot.
“Motherfucker,” I grumble.
There’s a split second of silence before the metallic cocking of a gun ricochets against the brick buildings we’re secluded in, and all three of our heads whip toward the opening of the alleyway.
I’ve never been so relieved to see Nixon and Enzo in my life.
“You both have one fucking second to back away from him before I light you up.” Nixon takes a step forward, then another, gravel crunching beneath his boots with every step, his gun pointed in our direction. “And don’t test me, motherfuckers. It’s been far too long since I took the trash out.”
Enzo walks with purpose into the alley, never more than a step behind Nixon. A dangerous air surrounds him, despite him not holding a weapon.
“I see you’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, haven’t you, Paladino?” Enzo raises a brow, tossing me a look of mockery.
“Little bit,” I agree, pushing to my feet. My ribs are burning, and the taste of blood swirls in my mouth.
Enzo has the balls to chuckle, while Nixon’s voice radiates off the brick surrounding us. “You fucks have three seconds to get the hell out of here before I shoot.”
There’s a deep scowl on his face as he stares at the men Javier sent, but I can read their body language: they don’t believe him.
