“He’s my property,” the man says through a curled lip. “And if he’s going to chew my shit, I can punish him any way I damn well want.” He stares me dead in the eyes and pulls his foot back to kick Cujo, and I snap.
I don’t remember winding up, but the next thing I know, my fist is connecting with his squashy, reddened face. He reels back, shock and pain registering in those horrible beady little eyes. I might have enjoyed his expression, but a split second later, agony shoots through my hand and up my arm.
“Oh, Jesus!” I scream, cradling my injured hand to my chest. Oh my God. Who knew punching someone would hurt this bad?! “Ow! Mother trucker, ow, ow, OW!” My neighbor stares at me stupidly, too drunk or dumbfounded to react.
“Parker!” I hear Lukas yell my name just in time to see him come flying through the gate in dark jeans and his leather jacket. There’s a murderous expression on his face as he stalks toward my neighbor and I wince as he throws his helmet back against the fence with all the force in his body. I know just enough about safety gear to know that helmet is a goner.
He storms towards me like an avenging angel and even through the pain, I have to admire his ability to simultaneously melt the panties right off my body while being absolutely terrifying.
He steps between me and Captain Potbelly, glowering down at him until the coward backs away. Only once he’s sure the man isn’t a threat does he look at me. He keeps his body angled to protect me, glancing back and forth between my neighbor, my hand, and my eyes. There’s a muscle ticking in his jaw, betraying the rage he’s suppressing.
“Show me your hand, Freckles.” His voice is gentle, but there’s a tightness around the edges of his mouth.
Cradling it carefully, I hold it out a couple of inches, whimpering in pain. My thumb looks wrong and bruising is already spreading from the oddly angled joint.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Well, that’s broken.”
“He was going to kick Cujo,” I say defensively.
“Oh, I saw. I saw you clock him too,” Lukas shakes his head and mutters. “Six to midnight over here,” making me laugh despite the pain radiating from my hand.
Lukas sizes up the situation for a couple of seconds, flexing his fists, chest heaving with what I think must be the effort it’s taking him to not hit Cujo’s owner. The man eyes Lukas warily, swaying on his feet, but otherwise remaining in place.
Cujo takes advantage of the quiet moment to slink over to my side, leaning into my thigh heavily. I pet him with my good hand.
“Hey buddy,” I say quietly, smiling at him as he licks my good hand.
Lukas claps his hands together, rubbing them and I can tell from the look in his eyes he’s decided something. The drunk asshole jumps like someone took a shot at him. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it. I shouldn’t take pleasure in the fact that he’s scared shitless of my boyfriend, but I can’t help myself.
“Right,” Lukas says. “Parker, we need to get you to a hospital and we’re taking Cujo with us.” Despite the pain in my hand, I want to jump on Lukas and cover him in kisses right now. Of course, he wouldn’t leave Cujo behind with this garbage person.
“You and that fat ass bitch can’t take my fuckin’ dog,” the man argues, stepping towards Lukas. That was the single stupidest thing he could do right now.
Lukas grabs the man by his dirty white tank top, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Listen and listen good, you piece of shit,” Lukas growls menacingly. I follow, reaching out to stop him from hitting anyone and getting charged with assault. My good hand lands on his bicep and I have an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
He speaks slowly through clenched teeth, “Say one more word about my girl and so help me God, they will never find your body.”
The drunk pushes at Lukas’ hands ineffectively before giving in. “Fine. Take the stupid mutt. I’ll get your ass thrown in jail,” he hisses.
Lukas cocks his head to the side before releasing one of his fistfuls of dirty shirt. His arm whips back and for a split second, I’m sure he’s going to hit him, but he doesn’t. He yanks his cell phone out of his back pocket.
“You know, maybe you’re right. Let’s call the sheriff to come settle this. In fact, I’ve got Bobby right here in my contacts. He’s a family friend, you know.” The man’s eyes are darting back and forth between Lukas’ face and the phone, trying to keep up.
“Let’s call him up.” Lukas gets a head of steam, laying the sarcasm on thick as he continues. “I can tell him how I got here just in time to see you beating your dog and grabbing my girl, breaking her hand in the process. I bet they’d go real easy on you, assaulting a woman like that. And animal abusers get treated real nice in lock up. I bet you’d be real popular—”
“Just take the fucking dog,” my neighbor interjects. “Never liked the piece of shit, anyway. Take him and get the fuck off my property.”
Lukas gives the man a shove as he releases him, giving him a sarcastic salute before turning towards me, putting a hand on my lower back, and steering me towards the gate. Cujo is glued to my thigh as we head to the truck. Lukas opens the back door and pats the seat for Cujo to jump in, but the Rottweiler puts his front paws up on the floor well, scrambling awkwardly. I feel for him. That’s exactly how I feel getting into the truck too.
Lukas sighs, scooping up the dog and lifting him into the backseat as though he weighs nothing. Cujo sticks his head out the window, a dopey smile on his face as Lukas closes the door.
He steers me gently towards my landlord’s house. He’s still shaking with anger and adrenaline, but he’s doing an admirable job of keeping it together. “Get your things, I’m taking your sexy ass to the hospital so they can take care of that hand,” he rumbles. I realize in a wave of guilt that he thinks I live in the main house.
“Oh,” I say awkwardly, pointing at my bungalow. “I live there.”
Lukas looks at me, confused, as he follows me to my front door. He squeezes in after me, peering around as I slip on a pair of shoes and grab my purse and phone. He takes my purse silently, locking the door behind us as we leave. His lips are pressed together so hard that they look pale.
“Why do you look pissed off?” I ask.