“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m fine. Handsy men are common when we go out dancing. I mean, Brett is definitely of the grosser than usual variety, but I’m fine.”
“That’s the guy from the shop, yeah?”
I think back to their first meeting and swallow, thickly, remembering Flint’s muttered threat.
“Yeah, but it’s fine. Really.”
Flint just shakes his head and takes a step back. “I’m going to get some air and grab Anne some ice for those knuckles. Do you need another drink?”
I glance at the table, where Betsy is giving Annemarie pointers on how to throw a punch without hurting herself. “Yeah. Yeah, another drink would be great. Thanks.”
Stepping into him, I rise up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “And thanks for the rescue. I’ve heard of Brett and his buddies escalating things when they’re drunk and who knows what could have happened? Annemarie might’ve started a full on brawl.”
Flint seems to take in what I’ve said, then runs a hand down my hair before stepping back. “Go, sit with the girls and enjoy the music. I’ll be back in just a few.”
Then he turns, and walks away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It’s easy to reach out and nudge inebriated minds so that bodies move out of my way. I’m not sure how I ended up on the dance floor, leading the women away, but I got them to the table. Anne thrashing under one arm and Ash coming along easily, which I’ve attributed to her shock. While I know a little about what was done to her mind, I know enough to assume that she is likely still avoiding violence in any form. It wasn’t hard to read the animosity, lust and need to consumein the drunk man with his hands on my female. Getting them out of harm’s way before he or his goons got physical had to take priority.
Now though, with Anne and Ash safely under Betsy’s supervision, I walk away. Betsy catches my eye and gives me a slight nod, a flash lighting up her eyes. I nod back. I promised my lady another drink and ice for her friend’s knuckles. I just have a stop to make first.
I exit the bar and slip around the corner, keeping myself to the shadows. Even without my powers, I’d anticipate this guy’s next move. I’ve barely settled myself in to wait when the drunken trio exits. They’re slow and stumbling, so I’m treated to some of their diatribes.
“Stupid whore. Out dancing with her cunt friend, dressed like a total slut, with thepurposejust because shewantsattention. Then I give her what she’s asking for, show her what she’s been missing, and that fucking bitch sucker punches me?”
They round the corner, walking past without seeing me. Allowing the sweet, still silence to take over my mind and blood, I strike.
With two well placed hits, Brett’s friends hit theground. The guy is overflowing with self-righteous anger and focused on his spewing of women-hating rhetoric as he makes it three full steps before he realizes that his audience is lying in a crumpled heap in the alley.
Before he can mutter much more than “What the—” I have one hand around his throat and have whipped him around, slamming his back against the exterior of the building. I hear a random drunk laugh as someone stumbles down the sidewalk, but I’ve raised enough power to ensure we won’t be bothered for the next little while.
"Casie,” I croon, leaning close.
An ugly look passes over Brett’s face, which is turning what should probably be an alarming shade of red. Idly, I wonder how long it’ll take him to turn purple. Or blue, depending on how this goes.
Despite that, he tries to sneer. “Whore,” he manages to wheeze and I slam his head back in answer.
Well that was the wrong answer. Entirely.
I increase the pressure on his throat, cutting off any other vile things he thinks he can get away with saying. “Now, boyo. When I saw you making my female uncomfortable in the bookstore, I let you walk away. I told Casie, however, that if you ever touched her again, I would break every bone in your body.”
Even without oxygen getting into his body, he still has the audacity to try to bluster and posture.
Whatisit with human men? For fucks sake.
“And boy, oh boy, did you go past just friendly touching, yeah?”
The poor boy squeaks out something that sounds like “mine.”
Red flashes across my vision. Locking it down, I bring my focus back to the cold.
Clearly, regular intimidation tactics aren’t going to work. His ego is even larger than his survival instinct. However, I’m almost positive Casie would feel guilty about being “responsible” for a dead body, no matter how peripheral her involvement.
I take a deep breath and focus. Skimming over the thoughts in his mind, I feel my stomach clench. The thoughts. The fantasies. The absolute filth he indulges himself in, day after day, is horrifying.
