Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Frankie
“Twenty dollars for that?” Bane grumbles, turning the small vinyl figure over in his tattooed hands. “It’s a fucking plastic toy that probably cost fifty cents to make.”
Saylor jumps up and down, her tiny hands reaching for the boxed Funko Pop like it’s made of solid gold. “But it’s dipshit Derek, Uncle Coopy! I need him!”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. I’m pretty sure Saylor’s using the character’s nickname as an excuse to say ‘dipshit’ in public. Based on the way Bane’s eyes narrow, he’s caught on, too.
“Language, squirt,” he warns as he passes the Stranger Things character back to her.
Saylor hugs the box to her chest, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “He’s my new favorite.”
“I don’t know, kiddo. Erica is pretty great. I mean, you can’t spell America without Erica.”
Saylor’s eyes light up. “She’s my favorite, too!”
Giggling, I scan the shelves, asking, “Do you have her already?” If she says no, I’m totally gonna get it for her.
She looks at me in that ‘are you crazy’ way kids do. “Heck, yeah. I have them all, except for the new ones that just came out.”
Saylor Benson is officially my favorite person on the planet.
I glance at Bane and have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snickering.
The expression on his face is priceless.
He’s both confused and overwhelmed, judging by the way he’s staring at the wall of vinyl figures.
There are at least a hundred different kinds of Funkos, all mixed up from people rifling through them.
Star Wars characters next to Disney princesses next to horror movie villains.
Bane sighs heavily, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. “I’m going outside to smoke,” he announces, his eyes meeting mine. There’s a question in them that I understand immediately.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” I assure him.
He nods, tugging on Saylor’s ponytail. “Be good for Frankie, squirt.”
“I’m always good,” she rolls her eyes like she’s offended he would suggest otherwise.
I watch Bane walk away, his broad shoulders and confident stride turning more than one woman’s head as he moves through the store. It takes every ounce of control I have not to yell across the store for them to keep their eyes to themselves. I close my tired eyes and sigh.
God, my life has gotten weird.
“Come help me look!” Saylor demands, already digging through the boxes.
Opening my eyes, I join her, carefully sorting through the mess. “It’s cool that you like Stranger Things.”
“Daddy says I shouldn’t watch it ‘cause it’s scary and will give me bad dreams, but Pop Pop lets me. He says I’m a badass.” She shrugs.
A laugh bursts past my lips. This kid. She’s something else. “Your grandpa sounds cool.”
“He’s the coolest,” she agrees, standing on her tiptoes to reach the back of a shelf. “We should try to find Eddie! He’s a limited edition.”
“Not a bad idea. He’ll probably be worth something someday,” I say, helping her move boxes around. “I think I saw some more over on that end.”
We shift down the aisle, and I’m about to grab a box when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. A chill runs through me, making my skin prickle with goosebumps.
Someone’s watching us.
I casually glance over my shoulder, trying not to look alarmed. A man stands at the end of the aisle, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s staring directly at us.
At Saylor.
My heart rate kicks up, and I turn back to the shelves, keeping my movements casual while my mind races. I’m probably overreacting. After spending the last several hours searching for human traffickers, I’m seeing threats everywhere.
But then I notice a second man at the other end of the aisle, effectively boxing us in.
Okay, this is not just in my head.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Hey, Saylor,” I say, keeping my voice light despite the panic building in my chest. “I think we should go find your uncle now.”
“But we haven’t found Eddie yet!” she protests, picking up another Funko Pop.
“We can look again in a few minutes,” I promise, gently taking the boxes from her hands and setting them on the shelf. “Let’s go see if your uncle’s done with his cigarette.”
The men are moving now, both walking toward us with purposeful strides.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I pull Saylor against me, positioning myself between her and the approaching men. I scan the aisle for an escape route, but they’ve cut us off.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my voice shaking.
The first man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just browsing.”
His eyes move behind me, then suddenly he lunges, reaching for Saylor.
Pure instinct takes over and I bring my knee up hard between his legs. He doubles over with a pained grunt, dropping to his knees.
“Run, Saylor!” I shout, but before she can move, the second man grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.
Pain shoots through my shoulder as he yanks me toward him. I twist, clawing at his face with my free hand, my nails raking across his cheek. He lets out a string of curses, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench away.
“Bitch!” he snarls, rearing back his fist.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
But it never comes.
I open my eyes to find Bane standing there, his massive hand wrapped around the man’s wrist, holding the punch frozen an inch from my face.
Holy shit.
The look on Bane’s face makes my blood run cold. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. His nostrils are flared, and his blue eyes—usually so vibrant—have turned to ice. He’s not just angry. He’s fucking feral.
“I’m your huckleberry,” he growls, his voice so low and dangerous that goosebumps ripple across my skin.
Before I can blink, Bane drives his fist into the man’s face. The crack of bone is sickening. Blood sprays across the shelf of Funko Pops, and the man staggers backward.
Bane doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He slams his knee into the guy’s stomach, then grabs him by the throat and hurls him into the shelving unit. Boxes tumble to the floor as the man crumples.
But Bane isn’t done.
He pounces on the fallen attacker, straddling his chest. His fists rise and fall like pistons, each blow landing with a sickening thud. Blood spatters across Bane’s face and knuckles, but he doesn’t slow.
“Bane!” I scream, clutching Saylor against me, pressing her face into my stomach so she can’t see. My hands shake violently as I try to shield her. “Bane, stop! You’re going to kill him!”
He doesn’t hear me.
Terror claws up my throat. “Please,” I beg, my voice breaking as tears stream down my face. “Bane, please stop.”
Finally, something in my voice reaches him. He freezes, fist raised for another blow, and looks up at me.
I flinch backward, instinctively pulling Saylor tighter against me.
For a moment, I don’t recognize the man staring back at me. His eyes are cold, empty, void of anything human. Blood covers his hands, his face. He looks like something out of a nightmare.
He blinks, and I see the moment clarity returns. His gaze drops to the man beneath him—face swollen beyond recognition, unconscious or worse.
“Fuck.”
Bane climbs off him, his knuckles raw and bleeding. Without a word, he grabs the unconscious man by the collar and drags him toward the end of the aisle.
“What are you doing?” I call after him, my voice high and thin, but he doesn’t answer.
I watch in shock as he hauls the limp body into the men’s bathroom on the other side.
Saylor trembles violently against me, her small body shaking with silent sobs. I stroke her hair with trembling hands, murmuring nonsense words of comfort, but my eyes stay locked on Bane as he disappears around the corner. My whole body won’t stop shaking.
A minute later he reappears, his face grim, blood still smeared across his knuckles. He marches over to the first man I’d kneed who’s still curled in a fetal position, clutching himself and moaning in pain.
“Please,” the man whimpers as Bane approaches. “Don’t—“
Without hesitation, he delivers a savage kick to the man’s head, silencing him instantly.
I stand frozen, holding Saylor, my mind screaming at me to run. To grab this little girl and get as far away from this man—this monster—as I possibly can.
But my feet won’t move because I know this is all my fault. He did this for me. To protect me.
I don’t know which scares me more—what Bane just did, or the part of me that’s grateful for it.
When he returns, I tense. My breath catches in my throat as he crosses the distance between us in three long strides.
For a split second, as his blood-covered hands reach for us, every muscle in my body screams run.
But then he pulls us both into his arms, and despite the blood, the violence, and the terror still coursing through my veins, I don’t pull away.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rough and his breathing ragged. “Did they hurt you?”
All I can do is nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Saylor?” His hand cradles the back of his niece’s head. “You alright, squirt?”
“I’m okay, Uncle Coopy,” she mumbles against his chest. “Frankie saved me.”
His eyes dip, locking onto mine, and something I don’t understand flickers in their depths. “Yeah.” He swallows hard. “She did.”