Page 80 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
“Hey,” I said, stepping between them. “Back the hell off.”
He turned. Smirked. “Didn’t realize she had a handler.”
“She’s got apartner.”
Sienna touched my arm. “Elias, don’t.”
But the guy made a mistake. He grabbed her wrist.
And something ancient inside me snapped.
I punched him in the face. Not a warning tap. A full-body swing with every ounce of fury I’ve bottled since I crawled out of that wreck. He went down hard, crashing into a table, beer and glass exploding around him.
Silence.
For one beautiful second, silence.
Then his buddy charged me.
I ducked his first swing, caught his second with my jaw. Pain exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and immediate. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My instincts screamed louder than the crowd.
I slammed him into a jukebox, felt something crack.
Another came at me from the left—I blocked with my forearm and drove my knee into his gut. He dropped with a gasp, and I turned just in time to catch a barstool across my back.
I staggered. My vision blurred.
Someone tackled me from behind, driving me into a table. I heard Sienna shout my name.
I threw an elbow. Felt it connect.
Blood. Yelling. My ribs burned. My fists ached. I didn’t care.
He touched her.
That was all it took.
The fight didn’t end so much as fall apart.
The bartender screamed he was calling the cops. Chairs were overturned. Someone was bleeding onto a pool table. I was panting, heart racing like it wanted out of my chest. Every part of me felt bruised or broken.
And then—Sienna.
Her hands on my face, grounding me.
“Elias,” she said, her voice firm. “We have to go.”
I nodded.
Didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
We sat on the tailgate of her truck in a half-lit parking lot, my knuckles throbbing, her knee bouncing in quiet frustration.
“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” she asked.
I stared at the ground. “He grabbed you.”
