Page 20 of These White Lies
But this is not the smiling, cocky man I’d spent the day with. This man is an angry warrior bent on blood. His shoulder collides with the attacker, ripping me free. I stumble back ontothe sidewalk as Brady drives a fist into the guy’s face. The crack of bone is sickening.
The man reels, but Brady grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him closer, before driving a knee into his gut so hard the air explodes out of him in a wheeze. Brady hits him again with sharp blows to the face.
Another man is suddenly there, springing from the back of the SUV. Yelling.
My instincts insist I jump in. Help Brady.
Dosomething!
But my feet are stuck to the ground.
Brady shares none of my indecisiveness. Pivoting smoothly, he lands a flat-handed blow to the second man’s throat. The guy chokes and stumbles back against the SUV.
I can’t tear my eyes away as Brady’s muscles bunch and twist. His movements to protect me are beautiful in their own violent and efficient way.
The first guy swings wildly. Brady ducks and delivers two quick, brutal hits to the ribs, and the man drops.
The SUV’s engine revs, the driver clearly panicking. Brady turns in time to catch the second man trying to retreat, just as the first man stumbles up and then slams into me on his way to the SUV. I fall back a step, my side flaring with a searing heat.
Brady catches me before I collapse, and I watch the two men scramble into the SUV. The door slams, and the smell of burning rubber fills the air as the driver of the SUV guns the engine, and the tires spin before shooting forward and out of the parking lot.
“Holy shit!” I whisper.
Arms come around me, holding me tight to Brady’s wide chest, his heart hammering against my back.
After the chaos, the only sounds are our harsh breathing and the insects.
The pain at my side is intensifying. “Um, Brady?”
Brady spins me gently, his hands skating over my arms, eyes searching my face. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
I blink up at him. His face swims in my vision for a second—his strong jawline, furious green eyes, the waves of dark hair falling across his forehead.
So handsome, I think vaguely.
My lips part to reassure him, but nothing comes out. I glance down dumbly to where my ribs are throbbing. My jacket has a rip on the side, and dark threads hang haphazardly.
“Damn. I love this suit,” I say, reaching to finger the tear but miss when I slip sideways.
“Hey.” His hand comes under my elbow to steady me. “Stay with me. Look at me. You might be in shock.”
Then he registers the tear in my jacket and exhales sharply, muttering a curse. “Need to get out of the open.”
I’m suddenly hoisted into the air, and he’s jogging back toward the building. At first, each of his steps sends a sharp agonized jolt through my body, but in the seconds it takes us to get to the lobby, everything seems to have retreated to a distant hum.
Brady sets me on my feet, but my knees immediately buckle. I cry out when his arm catches me firmly around my waist. He loosens his hold immediately and peels the edge of my jacket back.
Blood.That’s a lot of blood.I hate blood.
My stomach rolls.
Through my torn clothing, I can see a gash under my ribs, red spreading across my white blouse.
The ringing in my ears is deafening.
The floor feels cold beneath my hands.
Wait. When did I get on the floor?
