With His Protection (For His Pleasure, Book 15) (10 page)

He sighed. “Is this like some kind of Joan of Arc thing?”

“I’m not a martyr just because I’m trying to help carry groceries.”

“This backpack is heavy,” he warned.

“I think I can handle it,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. Bryson took the pack off and then slid it over her right shoulder and instantly she felt like someone had just tied an anvil to her. She nearly collapsed beneath its weight.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she lied. She slid the strap over her other shoulder and walked a few cautious steps. “A stiff wind might knock me over, but I think I might be able to make it,” she said.

“Let me know if you want to give it back,” he said.

“That’s not going to happen. I’m fine.”

He knelt back down and grabbed the case of water. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

A moment later, they were leaving the convenience store and headed into the elements. If anything, the storm had gotten worse since the time they’d been inside. The wind was whipping in huge, choppy gusts and the rain was pelting Scarlett so hard that she almost was wincing in pain.

It was difficult to see, and carrying a backpack loaded with fifty pounds of food wasn’t helping her navigate any better.

For his part, Bryson appeared to be coping well. He’d placed the water on his shoulder and seemed like he was taking a walk in the park, while Scarlett was starting to sweat inside her coat.

About two blocks away from the store, they ran into a couple of men in rain coats, hooded, who were making their way to where Bryson and Scarlett had just been.

“You coming from the store?” One of the men asked.

Bryson slowed down. “Yeah. I think we got the last of everything, though.

Sorry.”

“How much did you pay for all that stuff?” the other man said, eyeing Scarlett’s backpack greedily. He had a dark, matted beard and his eyes were like two flashing pieces of onyx beneath his hood.

She felt a sudden stab of anxiety as the wind whipped across them all with new ferocity.

“Not much,” Bryson lied. “But I’m sorry, I’ve got to keep going. We still have a long way left to go.”

He started to move past them, when the first man put an arm out stiffly to prevent him from going by. The man was clean-shaven, with blotchy cheeks and a body that looked thick and sturdy beneath his jacket. “Listen, you can keep the water, but we’re going to take that backpack,” he told Bryson.

Scarlett came up short behind Bryson.

The dark eyed man’s gaze flitted from Bryson to Scarlett and his lips tightened, but he didn’t speak as he stared at the pack she was carrying. She felt the threat coming off him in waves.

Bryson replied slowly. “We paid for this stuff.”

“Just give us the backpack,” the first man replied. He glanced at his friend.

“Yeah, or we can take it,” the black eyed man added. His voice was gravelly and gruff.

Scarlett’s heart went into her throat. “Bryson—“ she said, starting to slide the pack from her shoulders.

But Bryson was already putting down his case of water. “We’re not giving you a damn thing.” He stood over the water, his hands free, shifting his body slightly to block Scarlett from their line of sight. Bryson was larger than both of them, but not by much—

and there was two of them and only one of him.

The two men exchanged another glance, and this time it was longer and filled with menace. When they looked back at Bryson, it was clear that something had irreversibly shifted.

“Give us the stuff, fuckhead, or we’ll kick your teeth in. And then your poor girlfriend here will have to pick them up, if she can find them.”

“Bryson, come on. Let’s just give it to them,” she cried.

“Listen to your lady,
Bryson
,” the dark eyed man laughed. “She knows you’re not up for this shit.”

“Fucking pussy,” the other one said, shaking his head in disgust.

Bryson stood his ground. “You touch me or my girlfriend—and I guarantee you this. You’ll be the ones picking your teeth up when I’m done with you.”

Scarlett was frozen, but at the same time, was it crazy that a tiny part of her still thrilled at how Bryson had called her his girlfriend?

For a moment, the four of them were simply standing there, rain pouring down on them, in the middle of a deserted New York City street. They might have looked like old friends catching up, if someone had viewed them from afar.

Suddenly, like a flash, everything exploded into pure chaos.

Scarlett didn’t even see properly who had made the first aggressive move.

Probably it was one of the two muggers, but maybe it had even been Bryson who’d decided to go on the offense.

All she knew was that what had been frightening conversation had turned into total violence, the kind of violence she’d only experienced a few times in her life.

One of the men tried to grab Bryson so that the other could hit him freely, but Bryson instantly broke out of the man’s grasp and hit him hard in the face. This wasn’t the kind of punch Bryson had thrown at the club that night, when he’d put Dale Nolan on his backside for a few seconds.

This punch was delivered with what Scarlett thought of as lethal force.

The mugger literally crumpled to the ground in a heap, as if he’d been shot. She saw one of his feet twitching convulsively.

Now the other man, the one who’d been staring at her with his dark eyes, was attacking, vicious and frightening in his strength. He collided with Bryson and began throwing a series of wild punches. Scarlett ran forward, fearful that he would overwhelm Bryson with his ferocity. She tried to grab the man from behind.

That, she learned, was a big mistake, as his arm went back for another swing and his elbow connected solidly with her cheekbone.

As she flew backwards, she was seeing spots. A moment later, Scarlett’s body met the ground in a bone jarring, teeth-rattling collision.

Everything in her was jumbled, and her head snapped back, nearly hitting the cement. Luckily, the backpack cushioned some of the blow. Still, she was disoriented for more than a few seconds, as the shock of the attack reverberated through her.

When she could focus again, she saw Bryson pummeling the second attacker to the ground. His punches landed with dull, heavy thudding sounds as he smashed the man’s face with his fists. Soon, the second mugger was lying prone, staring up at the sky, almost as if he was dead.

“Scarlett,” Bryson said, turning and seeing her, his face registering surprise. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, struggling to get up.

Bryson ran to her and helped her to her feet. When he saw her face more closely, his eyes widened. “Your cheek! You’re cut!”

“I am?” She reached up and touched her face, finding that the skin had split open, and it was painful, stinging and burning. Her fingers came away with bright blood on them. “Is it bad?” she asked.

“Not too bad,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to get you home.” As he walked to where the two attempted muggers were still lying on the ground, Bryson grew suddenly furious again. “I told you what I’d do if you hurt her,” he said. Then he picked up the dark eyed man, lifted him off the ground by the front of his coat, and hit him directly in the mouth. His bottom lip split open, and a tooth went flying.

“Please, don’t hit me no more,” the guy begged.

Bryson dropped him back to the ground.

The man who’d been knocked out by one punch in the beginning of the altercation was slowly coming to, sitting up now, but still dazed. Neither of them wanted any part of Bryson after the beating he’d given them. So Bryson simply bent down, picked up the case of water, and started to walk once more.

***

Eventually, they’d gotten home in one piece, relieved but still shaken from the events of the day.

“Sit down,” Bryson said, as he took the backpack from her and ushered her to the living room.

“Oh, thank God,” Scarlett gasped, rubbing her sore shoulders that were finally free of that weight she’d been carrying for blocks and blocks and then up the flights of stairs to his apartment.

Bryson ran to the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. “I told you to sit.”

“Okay, okay, relax—I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re hurt.”

She smiled at his concern, and sat down on the couch as he dabbed gently at the wound on her cheek. Scarlett looked at him, still soaking wet in his coat, water dripping from his hair as he ministered to her bloody cheek.

“Do I need stitches, doc?” she joked.

“It’s not funny.” He pressed the washcloth against her cheek again, and this time she winced a little.

“Ow.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to clean it so I can get a better look at the damage.”

Scarlett looked at Bryson’s face, and it dawned on her that he wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape himself. He had a long scratch down his neck and his right eye was developing a real shiner. “You’re pretty banged up yourself, there, Mike Tyson,” she said.

“I am?”

“Yeah. You must’ve got clocked pretty good.”

He sighed. “I guess it’s to be expected when you fight two jackasses at the same time.”

“Maybe you should have just let them take our food.”

His brow creased. “Are you kidding me?”

“Aren’t our lives more important than a few packages of Ramen?”

“Of course, but they probably would have attacked me anyway. They were spoiling for a fight and so I gave it to them.”

“You gave them more than they bargained for,” she agreed, remembering how brutally he’d beaten the two would-be muggers. “How did you learn to fight like that?”

Bryson shrugged, still looking at her cheek warily. “My father taught us to play sports from a young age. He believed it would help us to be more confident as we grew older—which was certainly true. And he also thought that boys should be taught to fight so that we weren’t bullied in school.”

“Was he right about that?”

Bryson glanced down at the washcloth, and Scarlett followed his gaze. The cloth was stained red. “Yeah, he was right about that,” Bryson said. “I don’t know if the ends justified the means or not.”

“What do you mean?”

Bryson was still more focused on her wound, but he kept talking. “My dad was pretty hard on me. He was teaching me to fight and so he got me used to being knocked around. In his mind, that meant nobody would ever bully me when I got older. But meanwhile, I felt like
he
was bullying me all the time—whether he intended to or not.”

“That sucks.”

He nodded. “It did suck. But then again, it all came in handy. Who knows what those two guys might have done to us if I hadn’t fought back?”

“They probably would have taken the backpack and left,” she said, smiling.

He looked up at her, momentarily annoyed—and then a grin spread across his face. “You’re right. That’s probably what would have happened.” His grin faded. “I’m sorry I didn’t let them just take our stuff. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“I’m glad you protected me. But I also feel like it’s mostly better to walk away from a fight if there’s a way to do it. I wouldn’t have been upset or thought less of you if you’d backed down and let them take that food. It’s just stuff.”

Bryson stripped off his coat and took hers as well, putting them on the coat rack by the door, where they dripped steadily.

Scarlett’s clothes were soaked too. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower,” she said.

“I wish you could have it,” Bryson said. “But,” he continued, opening the backpack they’d taken from the store and rummaging through it, “you can still have a beef jerky strip if you’d like one.”

She held out her hand and he passed it to her.

“Oh, teriyaki, my favorite.” Scarlett ripped the plastic casing open and started to chew on the hardened beef strip.

Bryson began laughing as he watched her. “I didn’t really think you were going to eat that.”

“Why not? I love beef jerky.”

“Have at it, then.” He stood up, grimacing a little.

“You okay?”

“My back’s a little sore now. I’m going to go change.”

She watched him shuffle off to his bedroom. Scarlett smiled, watching him as he disappeared into his room. The rain was pelting the glass of the apartment windows and the wind howled again, but she was actually feeling safe and cozy inside with Bryson.

They were lucky to have escaped relatively unharmed from their encounter outside the convenience store.

They had food (even if it was just tuna fish and Ramen noodles) and water. Then again, Scarlett had never been the type who needed to be wined and dined in five star restaurants.

She went to her bag in the corner of the room and pulled out a new, fresh set of clothes. Luckily, she’d packed enough clothes for this extended stay at Bryson’s home.

Scarlett glanced over at Bryson’s bedroom and saw no sign of him.

It was easier to just change out here, she decided. Stripping off her shirt and pants, she was about to take off her soaked bra and panties when she heard a low whistle from down the hall.

She glanced up and saw Bryson coming out of his room. Of course. It was as though he had a sixth sense about when she was preparing to undress.

“I had no idea I was walking out of my room and into a gentleman’s club,” he said.

She smirked at him. “You wish.”

“I only wish the power was on again so I could put on some sexy tunes.”

“You’ve got a better chance of convincing me to go back to the convenience store right now than you have getting me to dance for you.”

“Are you sure you aren’t secretly into the idea of putting on a private show for me?”

“I’m sure.” She gathered her clothes and held them over herself, and began walking past him. “I can finish changing in the guest room, which is what I should have done in the first place.”

As she was about to pass by, Bryson stepped in front of her. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, ma’am. It’s too dangerous. I need to have you in my sight at all times.”

“Bryson, I’m serious. Get out of my way.” She tried to push past him, but he remained where he was, rock-solid—an immoveable object.