4. Consequences
4.Consequences
~ CAIN ~
Watching her leap out of her car looking for me, then slap the roof when she didn’t find me made me grin.
It was less fun seeing her drop back into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, like her knees had given out, and watch her sag over the steering wheel. Was she just resting, or had she had a medical episode?
She stayed in that position long enough that I was just beginning to consider breaking my own rules and making a second appearance to check on her, when she finally pulled her head up and, with slumped shoulders, turned the car on and reversed out of the parking spot.
I stayed low in the backseat of the truck I was using to watch her. It had an extended cab and tinted windows at the back. I could look out at her, but she couldn’t see me as she drove past, shaking her head.
But even though she was frowning, I didn’t miss the high spots of color in her cheeks.
And that made me smile again.
Good thing, since that little high would have to sustain me for quite some time, since it was hours after she left before that shrivel-dick finally lumbered out of the gym.
He was one of those meat-heads who wore bike shorts and tank tops that didn’t even cover his nipples. So thick and ‘roided out he probably couldn’t touch his elbows in front of his face. Neck and thighs the size of tree-trunks, veins on his temples and forearms… He assumed that his sheer size and power out-weighed everything else. Literally. I was an inch taller and strong, but at least fifty pounds of pure muscle lighter. He’d dismiss me as a threat if we passed on the street.
Stupidly.
I slipped out of the truck, I tried not to draw his attention yet, just closed the door quietly and started to walk towards the gym doors, scanning the parking lot and nearby street for any potential threats and finding none. I kept my head down so he couldn’t see my face, but eyes up, checking him out as we drew closer
There is a point at which the human body’s bulk begins to outweigh its frame—a size at which a man’s muscle volume exceeds what the rest of him is capable of moving efficiently, and so his size becomes a disadvantage against a skilled enemy. This dude was already twenty pounds past that threshhold, and if the weights I saw him lifting earlier were any measure, he was still gaining.
The excess weight made him walk in a rolling gait as he was forced to shift all that bulk. But that isn’t what ruled him out as a threat. That was the fact that the dude was so unobservant, he didn’t even notice me walking towards him.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my head down over my phone so all he’d see was the top of my head.
He gave a lazy grin and tipped his chin up in greeting, which shifted his center of gravity and raised his line of sight just high enough for me to deliver a short, sharp right hook to his undefended belly—though it felt like punching a wall. My knuckles screamed as he pitched forward, his lungs emptying in a whoosh. Moving with his forward-and-down momentum, I gripped his wrist and twisted it behind him, wrenching his shoulder as I whipped his arm around and put a knee to his back so he dropped to the cement with enough force to break his knee-caps.
His cry of shocked pain was loud, but we were already below the level of the parked cars nearby, and I got down in his ear to warn him before he bellowed again and drew the attention of some do-gooding gym bunny who didn’t know who they were dealing with.
“What the fu—”
I took the point of the quality, metal-barrelled ballpoint pen in my pocket and shoved it against the side of his neck so he felt the cold point and went utterly still.
“Shut up and listen, or I’ll bleed you out right here before anyone even knows they need to hire a crane to move your pharmaceutically enhanced ass.”
He spluttered, blinking, his cheek pressed hard against the cement.
I waited until his breath was hissing in and out between his teeth because he couldn’t move without hurting himself, but all that testosterone was still screaming at him that he couldn’t be taken down so easy. Sweat dripped from his temples and his face went red as he shook and growled with frustration—but one nudge with what he thought was a blade and he stopped fighting my grip that kept one meaty fist twisted up near his shoulder-blades.
Stupid fucker was so big he wouldn’t even be able to undo the bra he must need for those D cups.
“You finished?” I asked a moment later when he gave another little roar, but he didn’t try to get loose. I let the pen-tip dig deep in his skin and he began to whine.
“What the fuh… what the fuck? Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m six two and two-twenty and kicking your ass, that’s who I am,” I drawled. “But that’s not important. Just wanted you to know so when you’re thinking about this later you don’t get to convince yourself I was some kind of Mack truck that ran you down. Now, tell me what you know about the girl.”
He spluttered again, drops of spittle hitting the cement in front of his mashed cheek. “What girl?”
“Black hair, crazy eyes—you thought you were cute harrassing her a few hours ago.”
“The fuck? I didn’t even touch her—if she said I did—”
“She didn’t have to. I watched you, shrivel-dick. You think those made-to-order muscles give you a right to scare the shit out of women?”
“What? I didn’t scare any—”
Digging that pen a little deeper, I leaned down to whisper in his ear, running my nose against his sweaty temple. “You seem a little damp , sweetheart . Do you want a towel? I’d be happy to wipe you down .”
His eyes bulged and he spluttered another excuse, but I was done toying with him.
“Now you know how it feels when a real man makes you helpless, maybe you want to rethink how you talk to the ladies who didn’t even look at you?”
“I am not helpless —argh!”
He’d tried to wriggle loose, tried to ripple-flip me off his back. But I understood his anatomy better than he did. Something gave in his shoulder when I didn’t let his hand move and he yelped like a dog, then went still, panting in pain.
Good.
Shoving the point of that pen actually into his skin, his entire body vibrated. “STOP! FUCK! WHAT IS— STOP!”
A door thudded somewhere and that was my cue.
Letting go of his limbs, I shoved the tip of the pen into his ear cavity, clamping his skull between that and the flat of my other palm.
“You move a fucking fingernail and I will shove this knife straight into your brain. All those muscles won’t save you when you’re pissing your anti-chafe shorts.” I hissed.
He froze, still panting, and began to whimper. “What the fuh… wha—”
“Tell me you’ll never talk to her again.”
“I’ll never t-talk to her again.”
“Tell me if you’re here and she comes in, you’ll finish your set and you’ll leave, and you won’t even look at her.”
“I won’t! Fuck! I don’t even care! It was just a—”
I pressed the point of that pen far enough into his ear that his body started to jiggle and despite my order he squirmed away from it, whimpering again. Then I hissed in his other ear.
“The next time you make a woman feel small, I’m not going to warn you. I’m just going to kill you. Do you understand?”
“YES!”
I shoved off him and ran hunched, between the two nearest cars, keeping my body below the level of the lines of parked cars, darting between vehicles and parking island trees until I reached the final row, then following it back along the side of the building until I could dart down a narrow alley between two nearby buildings. The moment I was in the shadows, I ripped the hoodie off, holding it with one hand as I slowed to a walk, slipping the pen into the pocket of my pants and strolling casually back around the block towards the parking lot by the gym.
By the time I reached it, there was a group of guys coming out of the doors, talking, bags slung over their shoulders, waterbottles in their hands. I slipped up behind them, walking just a couple feet from the last guy, pulling my phone out and keeping my head down like I was focused on that.
“Yo—you okay, bruh?” One of the men ahead of me called to the beefmeat in the parking lot.
Adrenaline shot through my veins. I made myself wait a beat before I looked up, fixing an expression of only mild interest on my face.
But my walnut-balls friend was stumbling to his car, waving them off with one hand while he struggled to open the door of his Jeep.
Of course it was a Jeep.
The guys ahead of me watched him until he got the door open, then obviously dismissed him as nothing, said their goodbyes, and split up.
I kept my face in my phone and split off when the rest of them spread out to their cars, walking to my truck with my hoodie in my hand.
I couldn’t resist looking up when the Jeep rolled past, but the guy inside was hunched forward, hunted eyes scanning the lot ahead of him, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tied to gravity. He didn’t even see me walking between two cars as he drove too-fast down the line in the parking lot, his brake lights flaring red for a moment, then he squealed the tires pulling out into traffic.
I got into the truck and blew out a shaky breath.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
We hadn’t even started the hunt and I’d already broken almost every rule for myself. He’d almost seen my face—might have recognized me from inside the gym. They’d have security footage. If he asked, they might look at whoever was there…
It had to stop now. It had to. I had to stop.
No more interference in her life. Period.
No more hunt. She was all wrong for this. I couldn’t stay separate. I was going to make mistakes. She was too big of a risk. I should have turned around this morning when I saw her walk into the gym, because I knew.
Except… Something about the way those guys had leered at her had twisted in my guts—especially when her eyes had been so dead and glazed when she answered him. Like she was dissociating.
I slammed my hands on the top of the steering wheel, started the car with my trembling fingers and tore out of there almost as fast as my ‘roid-ridden friend had done, telling myself she wasn’t worth the risk.
I wasn’t even halfway home before I had convinced myself that I needed to check on her, keep tabs for a few days, make sure the guy didn’t go after her.
I was still five miles from home when I had justified giving her at least the first hunt, since she clearly needed something in her life.
By the time I made it in the door, I already had the app on my phone open that monitored the tracker I’d put on her car and showed me exactly where she was. Safely at home, thank God.
As I got a glass of water and downed it, it took a minute to realize I was staring at that dot on a map and assessing her neighborhood again, weighing the thrill of venturing into her territory against the control of choosing my own ground.
And the hair on my arms was standing up, which was my body’s way of saying, let the hunt begin.
Five minutes later, cock aching, and body thrumming because I was staring into the distance, remembering how she’d smelled, I wasn’t even arguing with it anymore.
She was either going to be the best I’d ever had, or the death of me. And I found I kind of liked that idea.
Maybe she wasn’t the only fatalist.