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He frowned at me. “I have abs.”
Vincent or Scythe, I wasn’t ever sure which, scoffed, “Yeah, sure you do. They’re just hidden beneath the dad bod.”
Truthfully, I could tell from just one tap of Nash’s midsection that the guy was ripped. But Scythe seemed delighted to have a reason to tease him, so I kept quiet with a smirk.
I went back to watching the tracker on the screen, with Fang staring over my shoulder.
A small amount of fight went out of him, seeing how close they were. His voice went deeper, softer, replying to something she’d said. “I enjoyed watching you enjoy it. Kian is tracking your phone. Keep going. You’ll hit the parking garage in about another five minutes.” He paused. “Maybe six, if you’re walking at Bliss’s waddle rate.”
There was a small smile on his face.
So when it fell a moment later, I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
His hand dropped away from his ear, and suddenly he was running. His long legs ate up the pavement, his boots heavy, arms swinging.
“Fang!”
“Something’s happened,” he shouted back. “Something bad.”
I stared down at the tracker.
It wasn’t moving.
They’d stopped walking.
I didn’t need to know why. If Fang thought it was bad enough to run, then so did I.
Vaughn, Nash, and Scythe all had the same idea.
But I was faster and more agile thanks to decades of team sports and years of fight practice. I darted my way through the thinning crowd, catching Fang and then outpacing him. I searched every face in the crowd, praying Fang had misunderstood and the three women would appear in front of me, their arms linked, wide smiles on their happy faces, laughing at us for misreading the circumstances.
Instead, it was Kara’s face that came into view, her eyes wide in terror, tears mixing with her mascara and running down her face in tracks. “Kian!”
I grabbed her by the shoulders, quickly checking her for injuries, but she didn’t seem hurt. Just terrified. “Rebel…Bliss…”
“Where?” I shouted at her.
All she could do was point as her bottom lip shook violently.
She was here, safe. I couldn’t stay to comfort her when Rebel and Bliss might not be.
I left her and ran, rounding the corner of the stadium, heading for the screams I could suddenly hear now that I was in sight of a masked man hauling Bliss toward a van.
And Rebel putting herself in between so he couldn’t.
Metal knuckle-dusters glinting on her hands, she laid quick, sharp punches into the man’s midsection, taking him by surprise enough he let Bliss go.
She stumbled away with a cry of terror, clutching her belly.
But that left the man with his hands free to focus on my girl. She was giving it all she had, a tiny terror, letting go of every bit of anger on a man a foot taller than she was.
But she was doing everything right. She was low. Quick. Even from here, I could see the expression in her eye that told me this was her fight.
This was the one she’d been waiting for, ever since that night Caleb and his friends had attacked her. This was her moment to prove to herself she could still be the woman she’d thought she was.
And she was kicking ass.
The low punch to the guy’s junk had me groaning internally but mentally high-fiving her. She stomped his foot, dodged his swings.
