Barrett was already on the floor, the front of one of his old man sweaters held in the giant fist of the man towering over him, his other arm cocked back. I couldn't even draw a breath to yell before he swung forward toward Barrett's face, a face that was already so bloodied and swollen that if it weren't for the shaggy hair, I wouldn't have recognized him, and smashed into some sweet spot that made Barrett's skinny body go boneless, suspended in air by the front of his shirt only.
"No!" I gasped, my heart slamming in my chest as I watched Barrett's, looking for the telltale rising and falling. It took a long second before I saw him draw breath.
But by that point, I was already screwed.
I knew this because suddenly Barrett was no longer suspended, but crashed down to the floor in a weighted way that made me cringe. I also knew this because suddenly the back of Barrett's attacker wasn't toward me anymore. He had stood fully and swiveled, a small smirk toying at his lips.
All I could think at that point was: run.
See, my good old flight instinct kicked in.
I turned back toward the door and was all of one foot outside before I was tagged from behind, one strong arm going around my throat, pulling me up and off my feet, the other going tight around my middle, anchoring me back against him. With his forearm pressing into my throat, I couldn't even draw a breath to scream. I was pulled back a few feet, the door slamming behind me, cutting off the chance of someone seeing in. Seconds. It was just seconds, but I was starting to feel light-headed from the pressure on my neck and had the horrifying realization that I was going to pass out. God only knew what kind of things could be done to me while unconscious. My nails clawed at his arm as I tried to wrench my body out of his hold.
Then I was dropped.
Surprised, my legs didn't react fast enough to lock and hold my weight and I went down on my knees, sucking in a greedy breath. My hair was grabbed from the crown of my head and yanked viciously back. "What do we have here? You his girlfriend?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Barrett's awkwardly twisted body. "Came in at the wrong time, bitch," he said, yanking my hair back harder. His other hand snaked out and grabbed me at the throat hard, using it to haul me back up on my feet. "Ain't gonna kill you. Stop giving me the big eyes," he said, rolling his eyes as he slammed me back against a wall.
Of course the dying thing crossed my mind, but it was more the before-dying thing I was worried about. You know... the likely beating, the possible rape, the definite strangulation. Yeah, that stuff was what was giving me the so-called big-eyes.
That and the fact that it felt like my esophagus was being crushed.
"I need you alive to give your boyfriend a message," he said, leaning in close and, even with most my air supply being cut off, the scent of stale cigarettes on his breath made my nose crinkle up. "You tell him to keep his fucking..."
The rest of his sentence got cut off when he was suddenly grabbed from the back of his neck and hauled backward, thrown so hard he crashed to the floor and slid several feet across it. My hand rose to my throat, holding there loosely, as I watched another man reach down to my attacker, grab his shirt, and pull him back onto his feet where he proceeded to beat the ever loving hell out of him, his hands moving faster than my eyes could follow.
The new guy's back was to me and all I could see was dark brown hair, a tall, lean, strong body clad in dark wash jeans and a somewhat tight dark blue tee.
I watched, horrified and fascinated, as the new guy decimated the guy who had choked me and knocked Barrett unconscious.
Barrett.
I flew toward his body, dropping down on my knees, and reaching my hands out toward his neck and chest simultaneously, feeling for how strong his breath was and his pulse. His face was hard to even look at, swollen and bloodied to nonrecognition. His breathing was shallow, but steady. I reached down for his sweater, hauling it upward to expose his chest and stomach. There were huge pools of red and purple bruises at his ribs. While I was no expert, I was pretty sure that meant they were broken.
"Oh God. Shit. Okay," I mumbled to myself, frantically patting at my pockets, looking for my cell.
"Relax," A deep voice said from behind me, making me yelp and fall back onto my ass. My head tilted up to find the random good (or very, very bad) guy towering over me, looking down at me with deep green eyes that were eerily familiar. It was in the bone structure too: the strong jaw, the straight, almost perfect nose, the brow ridge. Whatever his name might be, there was no mistaking it. Random hot good or bad guy was Barrett Anderson's brother.