Hannah #2
“Be a good girl and I won’t hurt you.” His voice isn’t as kind as it was inside.
“At least, not too much.” His eyes darken as his hands roam over my skin.
My short denim skirt and thigh high boots felt like such a good idea only a few hours ago.
I cringe as his fingers slide to the inside of my thighs and begin to work their way higher.
I try to clench my legs together, but he grips my neck tightly in one hand and roughly spreads my knees with his thigh.
The feeling of his hard dick against my stomach makes me want to puke all over his fancy boots.
His fingertips graze sickeningly slow over my underwear while he tightens his hold on my throat, turning my already pounding head into shambles, my blurred vision beginning to turn black.
One moment, his stale breath is on my neck, and the next his body is being ripped away from mine.
I sink to the ground, my legs giving out under me and I curl in on myself in an attempt to shield my body from him.
Choking in air finally, I try to look around, preparing for him to grab me again.
Flesh hitting flesh and the sound of boots scuffling around the back of my truck catches my attention, and on hands and knees, I crawl towards the commotion.
Mike hits the ground a few feet in front of me, and then a man in all black is on top of him, straddling him, fists connecting with bone over and over again.
It may be dark, only the lights from the parking lot filtering through the trees overhead giving off any kind of visibility, but I’d know that body anywhere.
Dean hauls Mike up by his shirt and throws him against the tailgate.
The sound vibrates through my skull and I clench my eyes shut at throbbing pain.
“Fucking son of a bitch!” he yells, each word punctuated with a hard punch to the stomach.
Mike lets out a groan, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground in front of me.
He wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve and I let out a gasp at the amount of it that covers his once perfectly pressed shirt.
Dean's head snaps to where I sit on my knees in the dirt. Mike sees his opening and takes it, lunging at him. His shoulder slams into Dean’s chest and he lets out a grunt as they tussle backwards.
I watch on in horror as Mike lands a few hits to Dean's face.
In a flurry of flying fists and splitting skin, all I can do is sit there in shock, the effects of whatever was given me tonight still running steadily through my system.
One final punch lands on Mike's cheek, and with a thud, he falls to the asphalt, his head making a sickening crack as it bounces off the ground, and then silence.
I stare at his body, his lifeless eyes staring back at me.
Blood begins to trickle out of his nose and pool around the gaping split in his head.
As quickly as I can in my drugged state, I stumble back on my ass and shuffle backward in horror.
I barely turn in time and vomit all over the ground, Dean’s boots sounding behind me.
“Darlin’, are you ok? Baby. Hannah, look at me!
” He’s in front of me in a heartbeat, those wild eyes bouncing around my face, then halting on my eyes.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before reaching down and grabbing my bag out of the dirt and pulling out my keys.
Gently, he takes hold of my arms and pulls me to my feet.
His warmth circles me as he pulls me against his chest. I can feel his heart beating rapidly under his sweat soaked shirt.
Relief floods through me and blindly I reach up and try to hold on to his arms, something to help me accept that he’s really here.
Peeking over my shoulder at the man laying behind us, I whisper into Dean’s chest, “Is he…is he.” I can’t say the words out loud.
Without any hesitation, Dean kisses my temple and whispers back, “Yes,” before opening my backdoor and helping me step inside.
I collapse against the soft leather, feeling my body slowly shutting down now that my adrenaline is wearing off.
As I watch Dean tug his phone out of his pocket, wedging it between his shoulder and ear while tugging my boots off one at a time, I can’t help but start crying all over again.
Not because of the man laying in a pool of blood mere feet from me, but because after the beast I watched Dean turn into to protect me, his touch is still painfully soft.
His fingers linger on my bare skin for a beat too long, but I don’t mind.
I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he moves around my truck while talking.
Before too long heat fills the cab, and I shiver trying to rub my numb fingers along my arms. Dean’s silhouette fills the door a split second later, a blanket in his hands, and with tender care he drapes it over my body.
His large body hovers for a moment before he bends over and kisses my cheek.
“I’ve got you, baby.” Those words linger long after my eyes drift shut.