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Arty couldn’t get out.
And he damn sure couldn’t save me.
“And what do we have here?” a deep voice said as the trio walked into the room.
I knew from Remy that this guy’s name was Anthony.
And that his gang initiations included beating an innocent person nearly to death. Women, kids, he didn’t care. You just had to do it.
Which meant that the other two guys, the ones who had tricked and taken me, they had done it.
“Back for more, are you?” they asked, looking at Arty who looked even frailer in comparison to the bigger men. “Trying to save your girl, huh, asshole?” Anthony asked, glaring at Arty.
“Girlfriend?” I scoffed. “I’ve never seen this guy before in my life. Look at him. I’d snap him like a twig,” I added, trying not to feel too guilty, hoping Arty knew I was just trying to protect him. “He probably just saw your thug guys dragging me down here and decided to be the hero.”
“Is that so?” Anthony asked, looking at Arty as he took a threatening step forward.
Arty, it was clear to me, despite being associated with tons of criminals and all-around tough guys, seemed even less prepared for this sort of situation than I was.
Mostly because it almost seemed like he wasn’t aware just how bad it was.
He didn’t stiffen or go pale. He didn’t even shrink away when the guy approached.
Almost like he didn’t, I don’t know, realize he was in danger.
But that was ridiculous, right? Because he’d researched these guys endlessly. He knew all the ins and outs of the organization, their criminal histories, the word-of-mouth stories that couldn’t exactly be corroborated or denied.
He knew they were bad guys.
So why didn’t he think they could hurt him?
I seemed to get an answer to that, though, about the same time Anthony grabbed the front of Arty’s shirt and yanked him forward.
Because, suddenly, there were thunderous footsteps down the hall.
Before any of the men could even react, the door was flying open.
And there he was.
The man I didn’t dare hope would come to save me.
Coming to save me.
Only he didn’t look like the Remy I had come to know and start to love.
Oh, no.
This was practically a different man entirely.
And the way he flew at the men, with the sort of savagery you only see in ultimate fighting rings with tons of money on the line, it was nothing like the man I had come to know.
Because the Remy I knew was kind and gentle.
But I watched in horrified immobility as his fist collided with the fake cop’s nose, sending blood shooting all across his face and hair, something that made an evil smile pull at his lips, then charge again.
Like the blood and the pain was spurring him on. Like he was getting something out of it.
Behind him, two other men rushed inside.
