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Taking note of the assholes as they come at me, I recognize one of them, and understanding dawns on me. It’s the prick who had my girl pinned to a brick wall, Charli’s stepmother’s piece of shit boyfriend. I suppose this is his attempt at payback after I beat him to a pulp a few weeks ago, and I have to give him credit for being able to track me down like this.
The boyfriend and one other guy look fucking stoned, one is fat, and the fourth guy looks as though he’s just busted out of prison. I’m not sure if I can handle four against one. It’s not exactly something I’ve had to do before. It’ll be messy, but I’ll give it a go. Hell, maybe Cole could add something like this to my training. I’m sure Jace, Luke, and Caden would be down for it.
The four assholes are on me in seconds and start one by one, which is their first mistake. The boyfriend gets an uppercut to the stomach, the other high one gets a kick while the fat one and shady one both get swift punches to the jaw, each of them gaping at me as though not understanding where they went wrong.
They try it again, coming at me one at a time, and I have to admit, I even start to enjoy myself a little. Only it doesn’t take them long to work out that they’re going to have to use teamwork, which is when things get a little harder. My eyes frantically jump between the four as they all come at me at the same time.
The exhaustion from the day quickly catches up with me, and they start gaining some ground. The boyfriend disappears, and I have no idea what happened to him because I know I haven’t taken the fucker out yet. Hell, I’ve been holding back where he’s concerned. I want to leave him for last.
Grunts and curses echo throughout the street, and it’s my bad luck that it’s so late at night and the streets are deserted. The fucker rejoins the fray, and my eyes glance in his direction, only it’s a second too late. I have just enough time to notice the baseball bat in his hands that’s already swinging toward my face. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
The bat clocks me at what feels like a hundred miles per hour, instantly knocking me to the ground, my world fading to darkness.
A nasty ache pounds through my skull as I come to, remembering what the fuck just went down. My eyes spring open as I frantically search the area for another threat, but it doesn’t take me long to realize they’re gone. And so is my fucking truck.
I get to my feet and my ribs protest in agony. I’ve had more than my fair share of broken ribs to know just how fucked up they are. Stepping back toward the ATM to get some light, I lift my shirt to check the damage. Cuts and bruises cover my skin, but the worst of all is the massive, almost black bruise across my ribs.
I’m certain they’re broken and that those fuckers continued their beating once I was down because before that bat came out, I was holding my own pretty well. But what kind of odds are four against one anyway?
Letting my shirt fall back into place, I search my pocket for my phone and let out a frustrated groan. Not only is my truck gone, but my phone and wallet are too. I’ve got no way to get home apart from a long walk with broken ribs.
I find myself heading in the direction of Micky’s, and forty-five minutes later, I turn the final corner to see the lights still on inside. A breath of relief falls from my lips as I struggle to keep myself up.
Thank fuck for late nights.
Knowing I don’t have much time before passing out, I pick up my pace and bang against the locked door with what little energy I have left. I hear groaning and grunting coming from within, but it doesn’t take long before Micky is staring back at me, annoyed by having been disturbed.
His eyes widen and barely catch me just in time. “What the fuck happened?” he grunts, holding my weight as he ushers me through the door and into the bar, kicking the door closed behind him.
He leads me back into his office and sits me down on his couch, being careful not to jostle me around. “The stepmom’s boyfriend came looking for round two,” I say with a grunt, wincing as I try to lean back against the couch. “He brought three friends and a baseball bat.”
“Shit,” he grunts.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Took my fucking truck as well.”
