Page 44 of Pistol Whipped

“You’re damn right it was a mistake.”

“Guys.” Dallas tugs on my shirt, drawing my attention back to Rain.

In the brief seconds we’ve looked away, he’s wrapped his hand around her throat, and he’s got enough height on her that she’s lifted all the way off the ground. He shouldn’t be strong enough to do that, skinny fucker, yet her legs kick helplessly, and her hands scrabble for purchase. The smooth concrete wall offers no help. Then I can see it. The moment the last bit of fight goes out of her. Her arms drop, her legs stop, she just…gives up. What absolute bullshit.

Dutch is already moving; he throws his shoulder into the man’s ribs. The guy’s got height on Rain but nothing on Dutch, who knocks him sideways. I’m only a step behind, my fist already raised, ready to deliver a punch wherever I can. Thing is, even with Dutch’s hit, he’s still standing, still choking Rain. My first hit lands in his gut, and though it’s hard enough to knock some air out of him, it’s not enough to get him to drop her. One quick look at Dutch, and we use our combined weight to shove him as hard as we can. That does the trick; Rain falls, landing hard.

Dutch and I continue our assault, each of us throwing punches, all of which seem to roll off this guy. He’s weirdly strong. Nearly too strong, but he’s also unsteady on his feet. It’s like he’s drunk, but there are no other signs of it. His speech is clear, and the fucker is even smiling. It’s creepy as fuck considering Dutch has managed to lock his arms behind his back, leaving me free to wail on him. Before I can land my next punch, he’s spitting out words that I can’t make sense of.

“Big, brave soldiers here to defend you. Do they know, little rat? Do they know all your nasty little secrets like I do?”

Briefly, I drop my fist and spin to look at Rain. All the blood has drained from her features. Her eyes connect with his, if only for a second, but whatever silent exchange passes between them terrifies her enough that she takes off running.

“Rain, WAIT!” Dutch screams. He drops his hold on Trey, leaving the guy staggering in front of me, with his arms now very much free. He uses our momentary distraction to nail me with a punch.

My brain rattles, and the coppery taste of blood coats my lips. I couldn’t give a shit, though; one punch is nothing when I’m about to put my fists through this Trey guy’s face. I jump him, knocking us both to the floor. I straddle his sprawled-out body and let myself go completely. Punch after punch after punch, until the body underneath is nearly still.

His nose is bloodied. One eyebrow is split. He tries to open his mouth, and his tongue and gums are coated in blood.

He’s still alive. I can tell because he’s groaning as I stand up.

I’m ready to walk away. To let this guy die a puddle of his own piss right here in this hallway, when through the choking sound of his own blood I hear him say, “I guess I should thank you, since you’re the one who drove Rain Gamble right into the gutter where I found her.”

Then he laughs. He fucking laughs. Without a second’s hesitation, I snarl, “Never say her name,” and I stomp on his hand so he can never touch Rain with it again. He cries out in pain, and even though my bloodied lip cracks a little more, I can’t help but smile as he curls in on himself.

His screams don’t subside completely, but they transform from howls to more of a whimper. Without them beating off the walls, other sounds filter back in, including thumping footsteps headed our way and shouts of, “Security!” and “Stop, police!”

“Co!” Dallas pulls me backward. He watched this whole thing go down. I don’t blame him for not stepping in. Dax is no fighter. In fact, I fucking love him for staying, because I know he did it for me.

“Cohen, come on. We gotta go. This is the last thing we need!”

He hauls me after him, but I’m too busy looking back at Trey’s mangled body and grinning to focus on where Dax is leading us. Maybe I’m hysterical. Maybe my broken brian has cracked again, but watching the EMTs rush towards the guy and haul him onto a stretcher makes me cackle. I laugh as we pass members of the crew, security guards, and even Lou, who’s probably pissed as hell that we ruined his Deviant Dreams announcement.

Worth it.

Or at least I think it is, until my best friend tosses me backwards and fully clothed into an ice-cold shower.

Chapter 22

Wherever You Will Go

Dallas

Cohen doesn’t even notice where I led him until the freezing water hits him in the goddamn face. For two fucking days I’ve tried to talk to him, explain exactly how I ended up spooning Rain and why she needed comfort, and the stubborn childish asshole wouldn’t listen. Short of telling him that I’ve been in love with his stupid face for the better part of twenty years, I said everything I could to convince him I wasn’t trying to sleep with Rain.

Then again, I guess seeing is believing. And hearing Trey say that shit to Rain, about Rain, was some kind of wake-up call for him. Seeing my best friend transform into some kind of feral animal was a wake-up for me too. He can say what he wants, curse her presence every second of every day; he can even pretend she isn’t there, but Cohen Brady is still completely in love with Rain Gamble. And he’s either too stupid or too deep in denial to realize it.

Which leaves my pathetic ass right where I predicted I would be, in goddamn emotional hell.

The cold snaps him out of his wild state enough for his eyes to finally focus. He scans the dressing room behind me before his green eyes drill into me.

“Where’s Rain?”

Of course, that’s his first question. I sigh, “No idea. She took off during the fight.”

One part of me is ashamed that, unlike my brother and Cohen, I didn’t do a damn thing to stop what was happening. The other half of my brain reminds me that thanks to years of on-again, off-again drug use, I can’t even fight my own battles, let alone someone else’s.

Cohen’s next question is equally predictable. “Where’s your brother?”