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As I round the entrance of the parking lot, one of the overhead lanterns provides enough light for me to see some sort of altercation happening in the far end of the parking lot.
My heart starts racing as I pick up my pace. I hear a scream that I quickly identify as coming from Monique.
“Don’t … you … ever …” she’s saying.
“Mo!” I yell.
As I get closer, it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. Monique isn’t being attacked.
My woman is standing over whoever is on the ground, sending—from what it looks like—another kick to his groin. I reach them at the same time that she actually stomps on his nuts.
The move both sends a wave of pride through me and makes me cringe in pain.
“Baby,” I call to Monique.
She spins in my direction wide-eyed, hands on guard as if she’s just waiting for the next son of a bitch to take down. Another sense of pride courses through me.
I hold my hands up in the universalI’m not a threatsign.
“D-Diego?” she asks as if coming out of a trance.
“What happened?” I look between her and the man crouching on the ground, holding himself in pain. I still can’t make out his face in the position he’s in.
“Your brother attacked me,” she answers, breathless.
It takes seconds for her words to fully sink in. “My what?”
“Rodrigo.”
I finally take a good look at the bastard on the ground. It’s Rodrigo Garcia, the son of a bitch my family and I have been trying to track down for weeks. All I see is red.
That familiar haze of anger blankets me at the knowledge that this prick attacked Monique. At least, he tried to. He’s about to get worse than a few stomps to his groin. Though, from the way he’s still writhing on the ground, I know he’s in a serious amount of pain.
It’s not enough, though.
“You’re about to meet your brother in hell,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“Hey, are you alright?” someone calls from behind us.
I don’t pay them any mind as I start for the coward on the ground. Monique jumps in front of me.
“Diego, don’t.” She pushes against my chest. “We have an audience.” With her head she gestures over my shoulder.
I don’t immediately turn around, still intent on getting to the cocksucker who thought he could put his hands on her.
“Diego, please,” she begs.
“Oh my god,” a woman’s voice says, sounding as if she’s getting closer. “I saw the whole thing. That guy attacked her. I’ve called the police.”
I look over at the woman and then back at Monique. She’s silently begging me not to lose my control.
I wrap my hands around her arms, needing to hold onto her to verify that she isn’t hurt. I pull her into me. The feeling of the rising and lowering of her chest against my stomach is the only thing that relieves the anger raging inside of me. It continues to remain, but I can manage it.
I won’t take care of this piece of shit right now. Not in front of witnesses and not in front of her. In the distance, I hear the wailing of police sirens. Though it’s not the way I would prefer to handle this, knowing that this bastard won’t be able to put his hands on Monique ever again, gives me a little bit of solace.
As the police arrive and rush toward the dirtbag on the ground, Monique pulls back and looks up at me.
“How’s that for weak?”
