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I sure as hell wasn’t going to be a victim, especially not after I’d gotten this far. But just as I felt the cold, hard metal brush against my fingers, before I could wrap my hand around the grip, I felt him tangle his hand in my hair as he yanked my head back.
A shocked sound left me, and in a matter of seconds, he had me in the small alley beside us, my back pressed against the cold brick wall, my purse wrenched from my arms and tossed across the way, hitting the pavement with a dull thud.
My heart was racing, a hard beat behind my ribs. Fight or flight was moving swiftly through my veins, the adrenaline pumping through every single part of my body.
“Feel lucky someone fucking pays any attention to you.” His voice was slurred, his breath hot and smelling like booze.
I turned my head and tried to push him away, but he was strong. He wasreallystrong, the alcohol giving him this superhuman strength I knew all too well. It was the same strength the addicts got, that rush of power.
“How about you go fuck off,” I said, knowing it didn’t matter if I fought or submitted; this would probably end up the exact same way. And fuck that. If this was going to go down that dark path, I was going to fight until the end. I was going to make him bleed before this was over with.
“You little bitch,” he garbled and grinned.
“A little bitch who won’t make this easy on you.” I spat in his face, and he growled out low right before he reared his hand back and connected his fist with the side of my face. My head flew back against the brick wall, my skin scraping against the rough edge, abrading my flesh, sending pain spiraling through my body.
He gripped my chin with his fingers, digging those digits into my face, forcing me to turn my head in his direction. I didn’t cry out, didn’t show him anything but pure venom.
“I’ve lived my life with assholes like you breathing down my neck. I’m not afraid of you, so if that’s what you’re going for, you can just go right ahead and fuck off.”
He made a low sound, as if I’d pissed him off even more.
Good. Fuck him.
“The fact you’re fighting me makes me even harder.” He ground himself against me, and all I wanted to do was bring my knee up and kick him in the crotch. But the position I was in, with his body pressed to mine, made that impossible.
I spat in his face again, and the look of surprise etched on his expression sent pleasure through me. Good, he was now realizing I wasn’t some shrinking violet. He had his hand on my neck, turned my head roughly to the side, and scraped my other cheek against the brick. I refused to cry out in pain as I felt the rough surface tear at my flesh, as I felt the warm wetness of my blood start to come to the surface.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” he growled. “I’m going to make you lick that spit off my face before the night is over with.”
Suddenly, this inhuman sound tore through the air and the drunk asshole was abruptly pulled away from me. I blinked a few times, my heart thundering, my head feeling dizzy, and the pain in my cheek dissipating as I stared at the scene in front of me.
A fight.
A violent one at that.
I should run, escape. This was my chance, while that asshole was occupied. But instead, I found myself transfixed at the sight in front of me.
“You think you can touch what’s not fucking yours?” The sound of his voice was thick, deep… deadly. It had chills racing up and down my spine, had fear and wonder choking me until I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t know who the man was, couldn’t see him with the dark shadows playing across his face. He was big, muscular. I could tell that much.
And then the man doing the beating moved toward the flickering streetlight, the one with the muted yellow glow, the light seeming dirty, far dirtier in this dank alleyway.
Butcher.
He stood menacingly over the drunk, who was now on the ground, looking up, his ugly face twisted in anger.
Again, I should have moved, should have run, but here I was, hypnotized by the violence, by the arousal of watching Butcher beat the fuck out of the man who assaulted me.
I felt my eyes widen as I watched Butcher slam his fist into the asshole’s jaw. Over and over again, repeatedly. And the drunk was no match, despite him trying to fight Butcher off. Despite the fact that all his moves were defensive ones.
Butcher’s muscles strained every time he reared his arm back and slammed his fist into the asshole’s face. God, I couldn’t move. I should. I should run, not stand here like a fucking idiot watching in awe the feral intensity that came from a man I didn’t even know, from a man who scared me but aroused me more.
And then the drunk stopped fighting. He just stopped. But Butcher didn’t. I took a step forward, a small one, and opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. He’d kill the man, and although I should let him, something inside me knew this had to stop. I had to put an end to this.
“Butcher.” I said his name softly, too soft for him to hear.
I swallowed as I watched him continue to fight. Not fight—destroythe other man.
