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I scoot out of the booth after him, the sound of the man yelling dimming as the blood rushes in my ears.
Fuck. This isn’t good.
CHAPTER8
Derek
Adrenaline is coursing through my blood, and all I can see is my father. I’m breathing heavy, and my fist is screaming in pain. My knuckles split from the impact of landing the punch right to this fucker’s jaw.
Don’t fucking talk to her like that! I can hear myself scream as my father tries to hit her again. It’s all I can see. How I was helpless back then. But now, watching the same scene play out, I’m not going to sit back and watch.
I can’t allow it. I can’t fucking stand a man yelling at a woman. A man putting his hands on her, talking down to her. Degrading her and making her scared.
I won’t allow it.
The table rattles and the glass clinks as the other man at the table jolts back, his chair hitting the floor as he stands and backs away slowly.
My body’s tense and ready for a fight.
The waitress steps back, and so does everyone else. I can feel their eyes on me as the fucker lands hard on the tiled floor. He throws one hand up in surrender while the other cups his jaw. His mouth fills with blood. All I can see is red.
“I-” The fucker on the ground cowers and starts to speak, but I yank him up by his collar. Every inch of my skin covered with a cold sweat as my heart pounds.
“Apologize,” I scream in his face. I clench my jaw so tight, I think my teeth crack. I’m so on edge.
“Derek.” I can faintly hear Emma’s small voice, laced with fear. My grip loosens for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. Shame momentarily cripples me.
“I’m sorry,” the man in my grasp says to the waitress on my left.
“I’m alright.” I hear the waitress's voice. She’s talking to the maître d', who’s consoling her a bit to my left and behind me. Not this prick.
I know her. I forget her name, but I know her story. She’s a friend of the Marianis. She lost her husband recently, and is just trying to get by. She’s new, and she fucked up. But she didn’t deserve that. And this asshole being so comfortable doing this in public means he’s done it before.
I’m gonna make sure he never does it again.
“Derek,” Emma calls out a little louder, desperation clearly there. I see her walk closer to us in my periphery. I hesitate. She shouldn’t see this shit.
“Stay there, Emma,” I tell her sharply. I swallow thickly, wishing I could just take this shit out on him. He deserves it.
“I’m sorry, just-” The guy says; he’s shaking so hard I swear he’s gonna piss himself. Just the sound of his voice pisses me off.
“Derek, stop!” Emma calls out again, taking a step forward and reaching out for my arm.
My anger wanes as my concern for her getting in the middle of us grows, but it’s still there, raging inside of me.
“Get the fuck out,” I say beneath my breath and start to shove him away, back against the wall. But it’s not enough. I haul his ass out of the restaurant, not letting go of the grip I have on his shirt. I’m walking so fast he struggles to keep up.
As soon as we’re outside, I shove him forward. The cold bitter air chilling my heated skin. He slips on the thin sheet of snow, landing hard onto his knees, the palms of his hands bracing his fall and a small splatter of blood hitting the pure white sidewalk.
I get a strong urge to kick the fucker right in his ribs. I want him to hurt. I want him to feel this for a long fucking time, but Emma runs out like a fucking madwoman, right in front of me. She's wearing her coat and has her wristlet in hand, with my coat draped over one arm.
I grit my teeth and grab hold of her waist to pull her behind me.
“Stop!” she screams at me.
What’s she doing?She should know better.
The sounds of the people coming out of the restaurant and stirring around me barely grab my attention as the man hobbles forward and turns on his side to stand up. I give him a look that should fucking kill, and he freezes on the sidewalk.
