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The smaller man railed backwards from the assault, spitting out a gob-full of blood, but he still had his wits, ducking out of reach and coming back for a counter attack. His fists were a flurry, landing full and hard into the big man’s nose. Fresh blood splattered the tarmac, the air heavy with grunts of pain and curses, until again they were squaring up. I caught sight of the smaller man’s eyes—dark pools of rage and pain, like a wild animal. He was chiselled and wiry, with an unkempt mop of dark hair and the perfect ghosting of stubble. A beautiful thug. A beautiful, vicious, monster.
Again the thump of fists on bone gritted my teeth.
The bigger man found some distance and charged at his opponent, a raging bull of muscled flesh. He was an ugly brute, skin-headed and scarred, with a jagged tattoo across his scalp. I knew his tattoo, a tribal eagle above his right ear. This had to be Tyler Jones, another problem case, one known primarily for domestic abuse. He’d beaten his girlfriend black and blue a few summers before, landing himself a suspended sentence and a non-molestation order. I knew it well, another entry in the East Veil case file.
My fingers wouldn’t work, landing on just about everything in my bag besides my mobile.Pissing hell.
Tyler missed his target, lurching forward in his own momentum and losing his balance just enough for the other man to strike. Strike he did, a kick to the back of the knee knocking out Tyler’s legs from under him and landing him in a heavy heap on the tarmac. I flinched as a bellow of rage rang out, a feral war-cry and the beautiful thug continued the assault, kicking the man under him, over and over and over again.
Just as he stopped, spitting blood on the ground beside his defeated opponent, I found my mobile.
“Piece of shit!” he raged. “You fucking piece of shit!”
“Fuck you, Jackson!” Tyler crawled away, clutching his side, keeping a wary eye out as he stumbled to his feet. “I hope they’ve beat her to death already, you cunt.”
“If they’ve touched her, you’re fucking dead. I swear down on my fucking life.”
“Not if you’re dead first, you fucking asshole.”
I held my breath as Tyler stumbled away, letting out a sigh as he moved out of eyesight. Thank fuck for that.
I entered the unlock code into my handset, keyed in the number for emergency services.
“Emergency Services, which service do you require?”
“Police!” I wheezed. “I need the police!”
A shadow across my vision, blocking out the light.
“No, you fucking don’t.”
And that’s when I realised the beautiful thug was whole lot bigger than he looked.
***
Chapter Two
Sophie
The beautiful savage was quick as a flash, snatching the handset from my fingers before I could move a muscle. He dismantled it with a grunt, snapping off the back panel and wrenching out the battery.
“Jones had it coming, piece of shit.” He thrust the pieces of phone at my chest and I grabbed them from his hand. But his stare was on me. He was close. Too close. Close enough to scare me. And close enough that I could smell him. He smelt wild: of sweat and damp and pure fucking rage.
Fuck.Adrenaline, fear, and hot, sweaty man flesh; a combination I crave, but shouldn’t. I definitely shouldn’t.
“You should let me call an ambulance. Your jaw...” I swallowed the croak in my voice.
He hacked up blood, spitting so close to my feet it splattered my shoes. “Taken worse.”
I watched him watching me, hollow eyes unreadable. I flinched as he reached for my chest, but he was only going for my name badge.
“Sophie Harding.Estate Manager.”
“On my way to tower one.” I gestured to the looming hulk of my destination. Shadow and grime had never looked so safe.
I should have been more careful with my paperwork. In the chaos my clipboard had lolled carelessly, and I was too slow to avert it from his eyes.
“You’re going to me mam’s.”
