I clawed at him with my free hand and was vindicated when he cried in pain from my nails raking across his eyes. If I could just get him to drop my wrist, I could get my purse…
“You’re fucking everything up,” he snapped. “You were supposed to sell your building. You think you’re hot shit because you’re screwing some low-life biker? You’re a Goddamn cum dumpster! He doesn’t give a fuck about you.”
He wrapped his hand around my throat and then shoved me against the car. My body made a resounding thud as it hit the vehicle. Kurt squeezed, and I flailed against him in an attempt to free myself, but he was too strong.
My vision was going dark, and I was in danger of losing consciousness when a shadow blurred through the night and barreled into Kurt. His hand dropped from around my throat, and I sucked in a breath of air.
The blood began to return to my head and my vision cleared.
Slash was on top of Kurt. He pulled his fist back and slammed it into Kurt’s masked jaw. But that wasn’t enough for him. Slash kept punching until blood began to flow from underneath Kurt’s hooded face. Kurt went limp, and Slash grabbed the balaclava and ripped it off. When he saw the face of the man who’d attacked me, his expression morphed into a primal beast, and he began to beat him again—this time smashing Kurt like his purpose was murder.
“Slash,” I said feebly.
He was mid-punch when he stopped and turned to look at me, arm still raised. His eyes were dangerous. He looked almost feral.
I didn’t know how he had come to be here, but he’d saved me. I didn’t know how far Kurt had been going to take it, but he wouldn’t be able to hurt me now.
I placed a hand on my belly, and Slash’s gaze followed my movement. He looked away from me to stare down at Kurt, who he’d beaten unconscious. Slash climbed off him and stood and then came toward me, reaching his hands out to examine me with bloody, raw knuckles.
His fingers gently roved over the tender skin of my neck. “That fucker is going to die for laying a hand on you.”
Shock at Kurt’s physical assault, Slash showing up like a violent, avenging shadow and the emotion of the last several hours finally caught up with me.
My legs went out from under me, but before I could fall to the ground Slash was there to hold me up.
I clung to him and pressed my face into his chest. His arm was around me, but with the other he dug into his pocket and took out his phone. A moment later, he had the cell to his ear, and he said, “It happened.” He paused. “The street at the end of the bakery. You’ll see when you get here.” He paused again. “Yeah, later. The spot. You know which one. I’ll meet you there after I’m done.”
He hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. Slash pulled away and cradled my face in his hands. “I need Doc to check you out.” He slid his hand lower to my belly. “I need to make sure you’re both okay.”
I nodded and leaned into him. Tears crept out the corner of my eyes. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Duke called. Said you were going home. I knew you weren’t going back to the house.”
I collapsed against him again and cried out my anguish, my pain, the terror of having a man come after me and physically hurt me.
Slash let me cry and didn’t try to stop me. My tears didn’t faze him. We spent a long time holding each other while I sobbed, and time seemed to slow.
After a while, we heard a moan from the body on the ground. Slash released me slowly and turned back to Kurt. “Close your eyes, Brooklyn,” Slash commanded over his shoulder.
I immediately did as he said, but I should’ve plugged my ears too, because even though I wasn’t watching as Slash meted out more brutality, I heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking and the air rushing out of Kurt’s lungs as Slash beat his ribs.
A white van turned down the road and came to a halt in the middle of the street. A man got out of the driver’s seat—he was easily over six-four wearing army pants and a black T-shirt that strained against his bulging muscles. He looked at me and gave me a chin nod, and then, without a word, scooped Kurt Antol’s unconscious form off the pavement like he was a bag of rice and carted him to the back of the van. With one hand, he opened the door and chucked Kurt inside before grabbing something and then slamming the door shut. He turned to Slash and tossed him a brown plastic bottle and then climbed back into the van and drove off.
“Who was that?” I asked, my mouth gaping.
“Ghost,” Slash said.
“Is he a biker? He doesn’t look like a biker.”
“He’s not a biker. He’s not affiliated with the club.”
“It’s only been a few minutes. How did he get here so fast?”
“He was in the area.”
“Just hanging out?” I demanded, knowing there was more to Slash’s story.
He sighed. “I knew it was only a matter of time before Kurt or someone that worked for him tried to get to you. Why do you think I had Duke and the others with you when I couldn’t be here? Bikers don’t just spend their time hanging out with Old Ladies. That was protection from a real threat, Brooklyn. We know these types of people. They always escalate. Always.”