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“Thank you.” The guy looked at me. “I’m so sorry. I almost nailed you.”
One of the other guys in their group barked out a laugh. “That’s what she said.”
The guy who Jake had helped steady turned around, his eyes darkening in anger. He shot back, “Bad timing, Bart. I could’ve really pounded the girl.”
The woman next to me started snickering, and her hand covered her mouth once again.
The whole group, all probably in their older thirties, were laughing, or their shoulders were shaking from repressed laughter. The smell of booze was ripe on them, and I caught the bar stamps on their hands. They were on a pub crawl.
“Come on.” The first joker stepped forward, holding his hand out to Jake. “Thank you, sir. We’ll keep an eye on him for the rest of the night. He won’t be slamming into your girlfriend any longer. We promise.” The corner of his mouth dipped down and then the other corner. He was biting hard on his lip.
Jake narrowed his eyes.
I registered the joke, but it was old by now. The disrespectful undertone had my heart rate rising.
These people were all dressed in business suits or business skirts for the women, and I recognized their type. They’d come for happy hour from their middle-class white-collar jobs. I actually recognized one of the couples since they often stopped by the restaurant to get a reservation, but they never heeded the advice to call the day ahead to reserve a table. We were always booked out a day in advance, but this couple never listened. They would get miffed when they were denied.
As both of them were watching me, I knew they had recognized me as well. I stiffened and tried to keep myself from glaring at them, but I didn’t think I was succeeding. The woman’s eyes sharpened, and she started to glare back at me. The guy didn’t seem to like me much more. Slowly, one by one, their group of friends noticed the exchange, and they grew silent.
One of the guys asked, “You know these two, Harold?”
Harold. I snorted. He looked like a Harold—old and stuffy with an ego that didn’t match his bank account.
Harold’s wife hissed at me, “You have a problem, little girl?”
I drew upright, slowly going to my fullest height.
“You’re nothing but a little girl who’s going to be a gone little girl.” Edmund’s sick taunt washed over me.
I started shaking.
This woman had no idea what she’d said, but I was right back there.
I was in the bedroom as Edmund started forward, but Kian was there. He stepped inside. I saw him, saw the complete calm over his face, and I couldn’t look away. His eyes were dead. A part of me knew that I should’ve been scared. I should’ve cowered, run away, but I didn’t. I stayed there, and I knew, somehow, that I would be safe. When Edmund realized someone else was in the room, it was too late.
For him.
The flashback ripped through me. The old fear crept up inside of me, mixing with the rage that was really directed at Edmund. I jerked forward, my nostrils flaring, and my hands were in fists. This woman and her husband had become Edmund to me. I wouldn’t take their disrespect. I had taken it for too long from him, and I never would again.
They were talking.
But all their voices faded to the distance.
I just heard their laughter. I saw the mocking looks on their faces. They thought they were above me. They thought I was dirt beneath them because that was how they treated people. They thought they could hurt me.
Never.
Again.
Then I was swinging. I was ready to take them on, all of them, but that one couple in particular. Suddenly, there was shouting, but I still couldn’t make out the words. They were moving away from me. Someone yelled out. Satisfaction surged through me. Good, I wanted them to be scared. I’d been scared for too long.
An arm was around my waist, and I was being picked up. Someone carried me away, and a hand started rubbing down my back. That someone, whoever was holding me, was trying to soothe me as we hurried away from the group at a fast clip. The group was almost running, coming after us.
I felt the tension from whoever was holding me. I reacted to it, going with him and slowly, the anger started to leave me. A buzzing sound dissipated in my head, and I became aware of my surroundings.
Jake was running down the sidewalk with an arm tucked around my waist. He kept an iron grip on me, and his other hand touched the top of my head, covering it every now and then. He ducked around groups and then into a building’s doorway. He dropped me but kept his hands on my waist. I felt them digging into me.
