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The three of them glanced at each other, not speaking, not even moving. The air became thick, suffocating with the aggression swirling between all of them.
The leader with the bat tsked. “Don’t like to share, huh?” The fucker shrugged. “That’s all right, neither do we.” He grinned again. “If you want us to go through you to get to them, so be it.”
“Stay back,” he said to the girls, not looking at them, keeping his focus on these bastards. Malachi took a step forward, the low sound of warning coming from him like a blast of ice and fire. “They aren’t yours and never will be.” Malachi rolled his head around on his neck. If they wanted to go there, then he’d show them exactly the type of man he used to be.
He’d never felt this kind of need for violence before, but the very thought of these girls being taken … used, made him fucking sick to his stomach, and had rage burning deep within him. Malachi wasn’t a good man, but hurting, raping women? He wasn’t that evil.
The first fucker came at him, the other two laughing as if they were watching television. He channeled every dark part of himself, the one who had ruled the underground, who’d killed mercilessly in another life. He was calm, collected, watching as he charged forward, his hammer raised.
Everything moved in slow motion as he lifted his arm, the gun in his hand. Malachi fired, the bullet going right through the center of his eyes, the sound ricocheting off the trees that surrounded them.
The feel of hot blood spraying on his face didn’t even make Malachi blink. This moment reminded him of the times on the streets, of the violence he’d done … of the men he’d killed.
Everything around him moved slowly, like honey slipping from a jar. He looked at the other two men, both of them shouting stuff, but the voices muted as the sound of his steady heartbeat filled Malachi’s ears. His body was rigid, his hands steady. They charged forward and he took a step closer. He was in his element, right at home, violence his best friend, his second in command.
He reached out behind him and pushed the girls out of the way as he lifted his gun and aimed it at the closest man. A shot to his forehead and he dropped to the ground.
The last man was screaming now, his mouth moving, yet all Malachi heard was the steady beat of his pulse as he focused, concentrated. The asshole swung out with the bat, but Malachi moved out of the way, making sure to keep the fucker’s focus on him and not on the girls.
The guy swung the bat again, but Malachi was prepared. He ducked and when the guy was partially turned, Malachi reached into his boot, grabbed his blade, and swiped up swiftly. He buried the knife in the fucker’s side, twisted it, and pulled it up. The howling of his pain finally pierced through his haze of concentration.
He could have easily shot him and ended it, but the violent, sadistic part of Malachi wanted to do this by hand, wanted to inflict pain on the bastard. He’d wanted to hurt these girls, most likely do unspeakable acts to them.
Fuck him.
Fuck all of them.
Malachi had already decided she was his, and he’d protect both of them with his life.
He twisted the blade once more before pulling it free and in a quick move burying it in his jugular. More blood sprayed out on his chest and face and he reveled in the feeling, in the act itself.
The fucker dropped to the ground and he stood there a moment just staring at the bodies, feeling gazes locked on him, the horror of what they felt thick in the air.
He finally lifted his head and stared at the older girl. She looked terrified, her body shaking, her eyes wide, tears streaming down her face.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice thick, the feeling of the warm blood cooling on him keeping him very aware of how he must look.
She didn’t answer right away, keeping the younger girl behind her, and looking scared as fuck. He tucked the gun in the back of his waistband and held his hands up, covered in blood.
“I won’t hurt you.”
The oldest looked at the men laying on the asphalt.
“They would have killed me and done worse to you,” he said without apology.
She swallowed, the slender column of her throat working as she nodded. “I know,” she whispered. She turned those big blue eyes on him. “I’m Sasha. Thank you for saving our lives.”
Sasha. He rolled that name around in his head, over and over again, a mantra that tamed, calmed the wild beast within him.
“This is my sister, Lucy.”
The little girl peeked her head from around her sister’s shoulder.
