Saving Landon Part 26

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard scuffling from the bar. I never should have left her alone with them.

They were a pack of wild, drunken animals, and she was a young, s.e.xy, defenseless girl.

There was no argument.

No questioning in my head.

I knew what I had to do and I acted.

The group had her pinned against the bar top. Judging by the m.u.f.fled noises, a hand was clamped tightly over her lips. They were hungrily pulling at her miniskirt when the last one spotted me just a moment too late.

With a sickly crack, my fist connected with his face, sending the man stumbling backwards against the others.

Two of the a.s.sholes kept holding the poor girl down while the big one probably their leader, by the looks of it reeled forward with a roaring fist.

I sidestepped, tripping him into a table and sending the remnants of a beer splashing at my feet. Things were rapidly getting out of control. The bikers recovered quickly, lunging for me in unison.

Thinking fast, I stepped backwards but slipped on the wet floor. My head connected with a barstool, making me vulnerable just at the wrong time.

Someone grabbed me by the shirt as I tried to orient myself. A powerful fist smashed into my face, but I detached myself and head-b.u.t.ted the offender.

"f.u.c.k!" The voice called out.

It sounded like the leader.

Good.

The other guy tried to lash at me as I clambered to my feet, but I ducked his strike. Using his weight to my advantage, I grabbed at his arm and knocked him off balance. Before he could regain footing, I drove his head straight down into the bar.

His skull connected with a resounding WHAM!

The leader was on top of me again, as he tried to get in a solid gut punch. I took one in the ribs before managing to push him back.

My hand brushed against a dirty gla.s.s. It was a stray tumbler, fostering the last few, forgotten sips of dark liquor.

Perfect, I thought to myself.

I smashed it hard against the side of his face.

"G.o.ddammit!" He cried out as gla.s.s flew everywhere. "You f.u.c.king s.h.i.t!"

I could hear a commotion from behind him. Lunging forward, I dove like a feral animal towards the two bikers still holding down the bartender.

She was kicking and fighting and had managed to bite the hand covering her face.

I aimed my weakened but effective punch at the distracted biker with the bitten hand, catching him just off-center. Stunned, he stumbled backwards against a low wall.

The bartender broke free from the other a.s.shole, dodging around the rising leader and behind the counter.

Whoever this girl was, she was a quick and nimble little minx. She dove behind the bar.

The leader got in a few good licks at me before I grappled him down to the floorboards. He got the upper hand briefly, but I managed to force him onto his back, straddling him and delivering a few solid wallops to either side of his head.

I was just climbing up when I heard the sc.r.a.ping behind me.

Before I knew what was happening, the bar stool connected with my head. Falling, my eyes cast back to the bar. A beautiful yet frightening face was rising from behind the dark wooden counter with a beastly looking 12-gauge shotgun in her hands. An explosion rang out, the gun punching a large hole in the ceiling. My loudly ringing ears couldn't mask the unmistakable sound of the pretty girl racking another sh.e.l.l.

...And then everything went black.

6.

Angel

It was awhile before Trent finally started to stir. The tiny, makeshift bed creaked with his sleepy, sluggish movements, and I firmly pressed my fingertips down over his pectoral.

"No. Stay down. Rest."

He nodded quietly, relaxing back down.

I lifted my fingers from his chest. Even through his shirt, I could tell how built he was. He probably had a stack of washboard abs below.

Privately, I grumbled that it hadn't occurred to me to bother checking that.

This guy was probably a muscle powerhouse beneath these clothes, and I'd missed my one chance to sneak a peak without him knowing.

"Do you want something to drink?" I asked.

"Water," he asked.

I reached for the gla.s.s that I'd prepared and left beside him. Holding the edge to his lips, I carefully slipped him some of the cold water.

"Where are we?" He asked me, coughing.

"Where I live," I answered truthfully.

We were in a backroom with a single window casting in moonlight from above. A bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling but I hated its sickly glow, so I relied on the natural light (or lack thereof).

Besides, I was used to moving around in the dark.

It made it easier to forget that I was trapped living in such a complete dump.

"I thought you were an a.s.shole when you walked in," I remarked. "You kept looking at me like I was a hot piece of meat... And then you go and save me from those f.u.c.kers."

"Yeah, well...it's been a weird night."

"Tell me about it," I agreed. "But listen. I need to check you out."

In the dim lighting, I saw his lips curl into that c.o.c.ky smile again. "You don't need my permission for that."

"Ugh. Not like that," I corrected. "But you took a beating there. Like a f.u.c.king champ, I'll admit. Still, I need to take a look at your head. You might have a concussion."

"Explains why my head hurts so much," Trent laughed painfully. "Go ahead, doc."

He slowly pulled himself to a seated position, and I helped him out of his shirt. After telling him to close his eyes briefly, I flicked on the overhead light.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He was temporarily blinded, but I adjusted quickly fast enough to see how amazing his powerful, rugged build really was.

There could barely be an ounce of fat on this guy's body. He was all muscle built to last. His sinews rippled just below the skin, pulling taut as he shielded his eyes. His powerful shoulders and tight pectorals were to die for.

Turns out that I had been completely right about his abs.

You could probably slice onions on them.

"Are you done checking out the goods?" Trent chuckled arrogantly. That stupidly s.e.xy smile of his curled along his lips again.

Ugh.

"You'll stop talking if you want my help," I warned him.

"Alright, alright..."

I pulled down my medical kit from a shelf. Popping it open and spreading a few supplies along the bed, I sat down beside him and dabbed rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball.

"This might sting a little," I explained.

"Pfft. I can take it."

The slight waft hit my nostrils as I pressed it to his cheek, bringing me back to when I was a child. It was one of the few memories that really stuck out, patching up my stepfather after one of his famous barroom brawls.

I shook the thought from my head. I couldn't help but wonder why alcohol seemed to be the common denominator in pretty much everything I did, despite how much I hated the stuff.

Dabbing lightly, I checked his cuts and bruises. After applying some of the rubbing alcohol to his wounds, I ducked out of the room and came back with a hot, soapy rag.

"Nothing broken," I observed. "Worst thing I'm seeing is a few deep bruises and the lump on your head. Still not sure about that concussion, but you don't look too worse for wear. It'll hurt later. But you probably don't need a doctor."

It was clear that he was starting to finally remember things as I cleaned him up.

"What happened after I hit the floor?"

"You'd be surprised how fast a bunch of fat a.s.s bikers can run when you point some buckshot in their direction."

"Remind me never to p.i.s.s you off," Trent said, letting out a low laugh. "Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you," I replied.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You were a beast. You kept taking punches and returning them harder. Those bikers weren't exactly pushovers. And you took on four of them at once."

"You had two of them distracted."

"Still. That's no easy feat."

"You sound impressed," Trent said, c.o.c.king a smile.

"Maybe a little, but let's not forget that I saved your a.s.s too. With a shotgun and everything. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty epic. You should have totally been there, instead of unconscious."

He smiled at me for a moment, before the grin faltered. "What about the bikers, though? Are they coming back, or...?"

I shook my head. "Called the Sherriff. He picked them up on the interstate headed west. They won't be bothering me or anyone else for awhile."

We sat in silence for a moment while I wiped him down. There wasn't a lot more I could do. He was going to need some painkillers for the morning, which I didn't really have access to, so... yeah.

"So, who are you, anyway?" I asked him.

"I already told you. I'm Trent Masters."

"Yeah. Doesn't exactly really ring a bell."

He flashed a c.o.c.ky smile, as if he was about to announce himself as the lord of some distant land. "You ever heard of Trent Masters and the Whiplash?"

I laughed aloud.

I didn't think this could get any dumber.

"Yeah, your name probably would have tipped me off if that meant anything to me."

Trent looked a little disappointed.