“It’s called being a gentleman.”
“No, it’s called expecting me to put out in exchange for free drinks. Now let go.”
I hear a foot thump against wood, and door hinges creak open, shuffled, stumbling steps. “Like I said, Nell. I don’t think so. I feel like watching a movie. I’ll even let you pick.”
“Say what you mean, Dan.” Her voice is hard, but I can hear the fear.
“Is that how you want it? Fine, then, babe. We’re gonna go inside and we’re gonna have a good time together. You’re gonna show me how sweet your body is, and how nice you can be.”
“No. Get out.”
A scuffle. A smack of hand on flesh.
Dan’s laughter, amused and cruel. “Smacking me isn’t going to help, bitch.”
A whimper of pain and fear, and then I’m seeing red, creeping up the stairs. Old habits die hard; I’ve got brass knuckles on my fist, which I never really needed, but they came in handy and I always carry them because you never what could happen on the streets of New York, even to me.
I’m at her door, closed now. I hear struggles, muffled.
“Quit fighting me and I’ll be gentle.”
Motherfucker is gonna die.
The knob twists silently in my hand, and the hinges creak, but the sound is lost beneath Nell’s whimpers and Dan’s laughter as he holds her in place and fumbles roughly with her skirt and panties.
She sees me, and her eyes widen. Dan sees her reaction, turns and straightens in time to meet my fist. He’s a tough sonofabitch, I’ll give him that. Not many men can stand up after I’ve hit them, especially with brass knuckles adding force. His face is mask of blood, and bone shows white on his forehead. His mouth spreads in a rictus of primal glee.
“Colton! NO! He’ll kill you!” Nell is panicked, shrieking.
He wipes his eyes with his arm and takes a step toward me, assumes a fighting stance.
“You don’t watch UFC, do you?” He smiles at me, and I know I’ve bitten off a pretty big chunk in tangling with him. I do recognize him, now. Dan Sikorsky, heavyweight UFC contender. Brutal bastard. Rumors are he killed a guy in a back alley bare-knuckle boxing match.
I grin back at him. I was scouted by the UFC too. I turned them down. I don’t fight for money anymore. The brass knuckles go back in my pocket.
I glance at Nell. “I’ll be fine. But what the f**k are you doing with a guy like him?”
She seems puzzled. As if she can’t quite believe my nonchalant tone in the face of a bruiser like Dan. I flash her a cocky grin which I don’t quite feel.
He rushes me, and Nell screams. It’s a slow, clumsy rush, though. He telegraphs his punch with his eyes and his whole demeanor. He’s used to crushing with the first blow and that’s that. I am too, so I know the feeling when it doesn’t work. Took a few ass-beatings before I learned to counter it.
Duck…whiff. I’m not fighting fair. This isn’t UFC. I plant my knee in his diaphragm, clutch his head in my palms and pull his face down to my rising knee. Shove him back. Kick him in the balls, twice, hard. Crush his kidney with a pair of jackhammer punches, mash his already broken nose with my forehead.
He gets his fist in my shirt, and I know I’m in for pain. He’s a berserker. I block the first few blows, but then they’re coming in too fast, and goddamn the guy can hit hard. Nell is still screaming. Ogre-boy is a bloody mess, and now so am I. But he’s working on rage and berserker fury, which will fade soon. I’m in the cold fury phase. I’m in pain, but I’ve taken worse beatings and still won the fight. By which I mean, walked away on my own power.
He won’t be.
I finally get his fist out of my shirt by virtue of ripping the shirt off.
I spare a glance at her. “Nell. Shut up.”
She goes silent immediately, sucks in a breath as if realizing where she is, what’s happening. Then she spins on her heel, digs in a kitchen drawer and slinks up behind Dan with a giant knife in her hand. She presses the blade to Dan’s throat.
“Enough.” She doesn’t need to yell. The knife speaks loud enough.
Dan goes still. “You don’t want to do that, Nell.” His eyes are deadly.
Her dress is ripped open down the front, her panties torn partially off. Her lip is bleeding and she has bruises on her arms and throat.
I don’t want her to kill him. That’s a lot of trouble neither of us need. “Strangely, I agree with the Ogre, here,” I say. “Let me finish this.”
Nell snickers at the name. “Ogre. Fitting.” She meets my eyes, then relaxes the knife.
Which was a mistake. The instant the blade moves away, Dan bats her hand to the side, spins in place, and punches her, knocking her flying.
“Bitch,” he growls, and turns to me.
Of course, I didn’t spend those moments idle either. Brass knuckles go back on, and I’m not holding back anymore. The second I saw those bruises on her, I was gone.
I’m a street thug again, an enforcer. Except this is different; he hurt Nell.
He doesn’t stand a chance. Within moments, he’s a bloody, broken mess on Nell’s floor. I’ve got some tender ribs, a broken nose, split lips and cuts on my cheekbones, a loosened tooth. Blood is everywhere.
I pull my phone out, dial a number, wipe my face clean with a paper towel. “Hey Split, it’s Colt. I have a problem.” I explain the problem and spit out the address. “Yeah, in Tribeca. Shut up motherfucker. Just come get the bastard and make sure he doesn’t bother her again. Thanks.”
Nell is standing up, dabbing at her mouth, wobbling. I dart across to catch her as she stumbles.
I pick her up, set her on the counter like a child, wrap some ice in a paper towel and press it to her face where he hit her. Fortunately, he wasn’t stupid enough to hit her full-force, just a little tap to shut her up. She’ll have a bruise, but that’s it. She’s woozy, bleary eyed, but she clears up soon.
Dan moans behind me, reminding her of the problem. She straightens in fear at the sound of his voice, peers over my shoulder at the chunk of bloody beef that is Dan Sikorsky.
She looks slowly from him to me. “What did you do?”
I duck my head, embarrassed. “I sort of lost my temper.”
“Will he die?” She says it calmly.
I shrug. “Not in your living room.”
She narrows her lovely eyes at me. “What’s that mean?” A quiet rap on the door has her shrinking against me. “Who’s that?”