Chapter 6 #2
“Let the lady win, dude!” someone shouts.
“That’s not cool.”
“She’s better than him anyway,” someone else says, and there’s a murmur of agreement.
“I’ll let you handle my balls, honey!” a man hollers, loud enough for half the bar to hear. A few of the others laugh and agree, but there’s still no reaction from Genesis.
She’s doing the right thing, ignoring them. I should be doing the same, but either she’s had more practice, or they’re not affecting her as much.
My break. All my frustration goes into that shot, the white slamming into the rack, balls flying all over, three finding pockets.
No one’s watching the game anymore—as if they ever were. The comments are coming faster, getting more ribald.
“Tight leather jeans on that ass.”
“Look at that flat stomach. Want me to lick it baby? Lick on down?”
“Bend over for us again. Bend right over that table.”
I clench my jaw, leaning in for my next shot.
“Show us your tits, bitch. You know you want to.”
And that does it. Fuck those guys.
I straighten, whirling to face the last man to make that comment. “Trying to play, here,” I growl. “Back the fuck off.”
He mockingly raises his hands in placation.
Genesis catches my eye, uncertainty in her expression. She knows this is getting out of control, and it’s not just them, it’s me.
But two of the men have walked over, flanking her. She ignores them, watching me, even though they’re awfully close.
I hesitate, wondering if we should call this now. It’s the third game, we’re even, and this one is the decider. Everything is riding on this, and we both know it.
We should’ve gone somewhere quieter.
Like that was an option on a Friday night.
“Leave this asshole,” one of the guys says. He leans in far too damn close. “Come home with us.”
“We’ll show you a good time,” his friend adds, and his hand slides onto her hip, fingers brushing beneath her crop top, over her stomach. Trailing the tattoo that I haven’t got to touch yet.
She twists away. “Not happening, boys.”
It doesn’t dissuade them. They come in again, one of them making a grab for her. She backs up, right into the man whose foot she rammed the cue into. Both his hands land on her waist this time, pulling her against him, grinding his hips into her ass.
The table is between me and them. Some of the men are cheering them on, only a couple looking uncomfortable. It’s mob mentality, fueled by alcohol, and I’ve seen it more times than I want to consider. They’ve been pushing each other for the whole time we’ve been here, and we’ve stayed too long.
I’m half way around the table in a second, pulse thudding in my ears, but Genesis doesn’t hesitate. Her head jerks back, catching the guy full in his face. His nose crunches. Then her elbow slams into his solar plexus.
“Fuck!” His hand flies to his face, blood gushing from his nose. Then his eyes narrow. “Bitch!”
And he backhands her.
Genesis’s head cracks to the side with the force of the blow, and she gasps at the pain of it, stumbling as she catches herself.
My rage goes from hot to cold in an instant, and it’s focused entirely on one man.
I’ve still got half the table to navigate before I reach him, and then he’s fucking dead.
The mood has turned ugly. The men are on their feet, half crying out in outrage, the other half shouting encouragement.
“Punish her!”
“Stop!”
“Asshole!”
“Show that skank!”
Genesis wipes the back of her hand across her lip, smearing blood on her skin. She stares at it for a full second, glances at the man that hit her… and then she grins.
Feral. Like a hellcat. Just like back at Franco’s.
I know what’s coming even before it happens.
Genesis moves in on the guy, stamps her boot on the instep of his foot, gives him a half-second to cry out and for his head to come forward, then uppercuts him. Her small fist smacks beneath his chin, closing his jaw with a snap, and his head rocks back.
Damn, she beat me to it. But the guy’s not down yet.
One of the two men near him shouts out, steps in, and slaps Genesis again, an open handed smack right on the same cheek as the backhand she’s already received. It spins her around, the edge of the pool table catches her, and she sprawls against the baize with a pained cry.
And I have a new target.
Grabbing him by the shoulder, I wrench him round and straight-arm him right into his face. It starts from way the hell back and I lean into it, all my anger, all my frustration in that one blow. Exactly what I’ve been wanting to do for the past half hour.
There are no restraints now.
He doesn’t have a chance to block, and bone shatters beneath my fist, blood spurting from his smashed nose. My punch sends him sprawling over the table behind him, face a bloody mess, jaw slack, eyes glazed. What’s left of our drinks go flying, the furniture smashing under his weight.
Damn, that felt good.
My knuckles are split, blood on my hand that’s not mine. Adrenaline courses through me, and I’m ready for more.
My moment of vindication is short-lived, for a man tackles me from behind, arms coming around my waist. His shoulder hits my hip, knocking me against the edge of the table, right beside Genesis.
But I’m fired up, pulse hammering, and I barely feel it. I drop an elbow onto his back, then do it again when the first blow only shudders him. The second time he cries out, grip weakening, knees buckling.
The third guy grabs for Genesis, yanking her back by her braid, and I can’t reach her in time.
She yells in pain and outrage, and I shout too.
“Get the fuck off her!”
But I didn’t need to worry; she’s got two of the balls in her hands, and she spins inside his arm, cracking both of them into the sides of his head. He drops with barely a whimper, eyes rolling back.
I laugh as I bring my knee up into the face of the guy still clinging onto me, his grip now limp, and my blow knocks him free at last. I haven’t had a fight like this in too long. Every nerve ending is alive.
We’re not the only ones fighting, with half the men taking issue over the treatment of Genesis, and the other half just up for a brawl. Alcohol’s been flowing all afternoon, and there won’t be any stopping this.
“Time to leave?” I ask her.
“Fuck, I suppose so.” She grabs her jacket off the back of her chair, ducks beneath a wild swing of a guy near her, snatches her drink from the table, then glasses him with it. He goes down with his face cut.
She’s so damn fast, brutal, and full of fight. Feral is the right word. God, but I love it.
I shouldn’t be this turned on in the middle of a fight. And yet.
I go for my own jacket, but don’t get there before a big guy intercepts me.
His teeth are bared, whites of his eyes showing, and he’s as wide as he is tall.
He goes for a grapple, both arms wrapping around me, and that doesn’t leave many options.
I take the simple one, smashing my forehead into his face.
His head reels back, and I get an arm between us, jamming the heel of my palm under his chin. That gets him off me.
A pool cue smacks into the back of his head, snapping in two. The guy goes down, and Genesis is behind him, holding the broken shaft. She throws me a grin. “Great first date, Romeo.”
That holds some promise, even if we didn’t get the game finished.
Swiping my jacket off my chair with one hand, I hook the other around her waist, pulling her out of the path of a man who goes flailing back, another guy barreling into him.
The fight has moved on from the pool table area, and now the whole bar is embroiled in it.
There’s a crush of tussling bodies between us and the door, and we’re pinned against the wall.
“This way!” Genesis says, grabbing my hand.
Hers is so small within mine, and her knuckles are bleeding.
But I follow as we run down the line of the wall, kicking the occasional table out of our path, and duck through a corridor that’s marked for the toilets.
But she goes straight past those doors, hitting a fire exit at the end, and it deposits us back outside.
It’s dark now, and we’re in an alley somewhere. Dumpsters nearby stink the air up, and we move away, toward the road.
I check behind us. A few guys are running on the street, but they’re fleeing, not following. No one’s coming our way.
Genesis pulls her jacket on, her eyes reflecting the streetlights as she turns to me with a breathless laugh. “That was fun.”
The bruise on her cheek is red and fierce, and I pause beneath the next light, making her stop too. I lift her chin with a light two-fingered touch, turning her head so I can examine it. I do it without thinking, but she doesn’t object. She lets me.
“Gonna take a quick look,” I tell her. “Keep still for me, you little hellcat.”
“Hellcat?” she raises an eyebrow.
“Keep still,” I say again, running my fingertips gently down her cheekbone. It’s the most intimate touch we’ve had, and I do it watching her eyes, looking for the pain response that’ll tell me if the bone’s fractured.
My touch lingers longer than necessary. I don’t know if it’s just being this close to her, the myriad subtle colors buried deep in her chestnut eyes, or the pain that fills them, but damn, it’s intense. She looks so vulnerable when she’s in pain, and God help me, I want more of it.
My pulse is still running fast with the adrenaline of the fight, but it jumps up another notch. She feels it too; I can tell from the subtle signs. The catch of her breath, and not with a wince of pain. The ways her eyes widen. The slight parting of her lips.
I don’t want this moment to end, but I can’t keep touching her cheek, even if I do like the way the hurt reflects in her gaze.
You’re twisted.
Her cheek is badly bruised, but I can’t feel any bumps or ridges. Not broken then, and I drop my fingers in both relief and reluctance. “You’re good.”
“So are you.” She takes my hand in hers and turns it over, examining my split knuckles. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Places.” I shrug. Then decide to tell her; she’s going to find out soon anyway. “Marines.” I tilt my head. “You?”
“Bars.” She gives a self-deprecating smile. “I seem to get in a lot of trouble.” She tugs me back toward our bikes. “Come on.”
“Trouble? You?” I say as we walk. “Hard to believe.”
“Was that sarcasm, Romeo?”
“No, but you fight too damn good just to have picked it up naturally.”
“Someone once told me I score well for spatial awareness. Not so good with numbers.”
“Can you shoot?”
She glances at me. “Yeah. Pretty well, actually.”
I nod. “Makes sense. Bikes, guns, pool, knowing where to move. Kinesthesia.”
Her eyebrows go up. “That’s a big word for a guy like you.”
Shit. That was careless, Declan.
“A guy like what?” I say, blowing it off. “Just because I’ve got ink on my head doesn’t mean it seeped through to my brain.”
“You’re educated.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Not just a thug, are you?”
“You’ve been holding out too,” I say, deflecting. “Where did you get given numerical, verbal and spatial awareness tests?”
She glances away. “I used to do pretty good in school. Before I…” Her voice drops to a mutter. “…left.”
We’re almost back at the bikes, and I pause, not wanting this to be over. I have to deal with Mercer and her damn dog early tomorrow morning, but for now, I want more of Genesis. “I’d like to hear all about that.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not telling you.” She scuffs her boot on the ground, looks up at the apartment building we’re parked in front of, then back at me. “You’d have lost that match.”
I blink. “How do you figure?”
“I’m better than you.”
She might be right. “Still, I won anyway.”
It’s her turn to look surprised. “How do you figure?”
“You disqualified yourself in that last game. So I win by default.”
“What? The fuck I did.”
“Handling the balls on the table?” I remind her. “Taking two of them off?” I shrug and spread my hands. “Instant disqualification.”
She stares at me for several long seconds. Then her lips curl into a sexy smile. “Yeah, okay. Worth it though. You see that guy I ball-clapped around the ears?”
I wince. “Please don’t ever say those words again.” Then I take a step closer to her.
She backs up, a hand pressing into my chest. “Whoa, mister. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m still high from that fight, alcohol in my blood, inhibitions lowered and… I just watched you beat the crap out of three men.”
“Right.” Another pace back, but I follow, keeping her close. “And… uh… now?”
It’s not a refusal, and I leap on it. “Now I take you up to your apartment”—I glance at the building behind her—“and claim my reward.”
She bites at her lip, her cheeks tingeing red, suddenly looking vulnerable. So goddamn appealing.
Then she meets my gaze and gives the smallest, briefest nod.