Page 18 of Resist

The door shut with a slam, and Ainsley sent up a prayer that whoever had cut and run would at least call the cops. Though even if they did, they would arrive too late.

Mario had just managed to grab one of her arms, his hold tighter than a vise, when she heard Luigi yelp.

One minute, Luigi was standing in front of her, the next, he was laying on the ground halfway across the tavern in the middle of the splintered remains of a table.

Ainsley blinked rapidly, blinded by tears of pain and trying to figure out what the hell happened, when Mario pushed her forward roughly, using her as some sort of human shield. She bounced off a rock-hard wall of muscle, but the hands that touched her now didn’t hurt. They were gentle.

“Call the police, Ainsley.”

She looked up—and nearly sobbed when she saw Coulton standing there. His gaze, however, was locked on Mario, who was standing behind her.

Coulton carefully set her to the side, and then he moved forward with the force of a wrecking ball. He picked up Mario, swinging him like a rag doll as he tossed him next to Luigi, who was either unconscious or playing dead.

Mario slowly clamored to one knee, attempting to rise, but Coulton didn’t give him the chance, kicking the man in the gut the same way Mario had done to her.

Ha! Fucking karma, asshole.

That was when Luigi moved, grabbing Coulton’s ankle in an effort to pull him off his feet. He almost succeeded as Coulton stumbled back a few steps.

Both men used that to their advantage, quickly rising and lifting their fists.

“You’re gonna fucking die,” Luigi threatened, reaching into his pocket for the knife.

Assholes like these two enjoyed beating on women, as if crushing someone who was physically smaller and weaker somehow made them big, tough men, but when it came to fighting Coulton, they were prepared to gang up and cheat, using their weapons against an unarmed man.

“Fucking cowards.” Ainsley reached down, grasping her bat and screaming like a banshee as she charged. She heard a crack after she swung, and Luigi’s howl of pain as his hand dropped the knife, his arm hanging uselessly at a strange angle.

“My fucking arm!” he cried out.

Coulton had moved at the same time, throwing a punch at Mario that took the man down in one. Petey had asked Coulton if he’d done any boxing. If he hadn’t, he was missing his calling.

Mario shook his head, trying to clear his vision, twisting over to his hands and knees, rapidly crawling toward the door.

Luigi beat him there, shoving his partner out of the way with his foot, in his haste to get away. Ainsley chased him, her bat raised above her head.

Mario scrambled to his feet, racing out just a step behind Luigi, who was cradling his broken arm and cussing loudly. “Crazy fucking cunt!”

Ainsley had every intention of chasing the motherfuckers down the street, but a strong arm banded around her waist, holding her back.

“Down, wildcat,” Coulton said, reaching to take the bat from her.

She struggled briefly, adrenaline coursing through her veins, until Coulton placed his lips next to her ear. “Shhh. It’s over now,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

It took at least a dozen times of him repeating those same words, “It’s over,” for it to finally sink in.

She stilled in his arms, soaking in the strength and warmth of his embrace for as long as she dared.

When was the last time anyone had held her like this?

Wrong question.

Had anyoneeverheld her like this?

Sadly, the answer to that question came easily.

No.

Ainsley had lived an entire lifetime painfully short on hugs. Which explained why it was so difficult for her to push Coulton’s arm down and step away.

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