Love Tap(39)

Her wrists being so tiny, she slips through and punches the guy in the face so hard he falters.

Like a match igniting gasoline I sprint forward. The need to protect Tate my only thought, bad blood between us is history. Nobody touches her but me.

He thrusts his fist right into Tate’s face, and she cries with pain as her head whips to the side. I grit my teeth, my fists curled so tight my knuckles turn white. Before he can deliver another hit, I tackle him off her. Rolling along the grass, tangled in arms and limbs, I find he’s bigger than I thought. He’s done this before, but he’s sloppy. A street fighter at best. I wrap my arm around his neck, and wrap my leg around his body, securing him to the ground. He grunts as I tighten my hold around his neck, limiting his oxygen. His attempt to escape weakens as he begins to lose consciousness, so I let go. He coughs out a sickly sound as he falls to his knees, rubbing his throat.

Taking my training to a whole other level, from professional to personal, I strike him in the face with my foot, throwing him backwards. His teeth clatter, and blood sprays along my bare foot.

He stays down this time, cupping his face in agony. My chest rises and falls as I pace the wet grass. I point at him, but before I can speak my threat, out of nowhere, Tate straddles the guy, her legs on each side of his body, leaning down she punches him in the mouth.

“Tate!” Grabbing onto her shoulders, I pull her off the groaning guy. She tries to fight my hold on her, desperately wanting to attack the * again. Shoving her back a few steps I yell, “Go!” and point toward her house. “I got this!”

She stands tall, her face serious. I can’t lie, I’m getting a hard on at seeing her so undone. She’s furious, reminding me of a Tate I once knew. I warm as feelings I’ve tried to keep at bay coming forward at once.

Not paying attention, a fist swings past my face from behind almost hitting Tate. Not getting the hint that he doesn’t mess with what’s mine.

“You wanna fight like a man, but you’re about to lose like a bitch!” I seethe.

Gritting my teeth I elbow check the f*cker in the face, and he falls on his ass. My vision goes red, and my chest aches with a pain so fierce the only way to relieve it is to deliver it.

Stepping over the guy, my legs straddle him. Pulling him up by his hair I force him to look me in the eyes.

“Nobody touches what’s mine, do you hear me?” My voice comes out calm, but serious.

“That hippie bitch ain’t worth all this anyway,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he comes around.

“Good, leave and don’t come back. If you do, you will be rolling back to your homeboys in a wheelchair. Do you understand?”

He smiles in response, before spitting blood in my face.

My nostrils flare as I wipe the blood from my face with my free hand.

Having been done with his bullshit, I head butt him and he conks out.

My head pounds from the impact, causing me to blink a few times to catch my bearings. Sirens sound from up the block, catching my attention.

“Camden go!” Looking behind me Tate is standing on the steps, a look of worry wrinkling her face. “Go, if they find you here you’ll be all over the news.”

Her care isn’t lost on me. Maybe she really does feel like shit for what happened between us. I look down at the unconscious man, and he groans. He could come to and severely hurt Tate or someone else.

“I don’t care, I’m not leaving.” I rub at my sore forehead, staring her in the eyes.

So many unspoken things are said between our silent stare. I try to fight it, try to keep hold of the resentment toward her.

“I care, Camden. Go, if anyone catches wind that you were here this will blow up and become twisted in so many ways,” she continues, and the anger I was trying to hang on to... vanishes. I clench my eyes shut, mentally cursing myself.

Opening my eyes I glare at the guy who probably has a concussion. Maybe I shouldn’t stay. If I’m here when the cops show up this could be bad not only for me, but for Tate and her family. I have seen articles get so twisted and far from the truth that it’s just not right. I can’t do that to Tate and her family.

“Fine,” I whisper reluctantly. Getting some space from Tate is probably for the best anyhow.

Stepping over the unconscious *, I race toward my house covered in blood and bruises.





Chapter Twelve


17 Years Old

Tate



“I don’t think this is a good idea Camden.” Biting my nails I eye the green T-bird.

“Babe, how are you ever going to learn if you don’t try?” Camden opens the driver side door with a lazy grin spreading across his face. His blond hair is long and falling in his eyes effortlessly. Seriously, how did I get so lucky to land the ruggedly good-looking Camden Steel? Of course I don’t ask him that, his ego is big enough. I’ve had my permit for a while now, but with Mom’s death I just didn’t ever get around to getting my license. Camden has been up my ass about getting it.

“What if I wreck it?” I worry.

“Then you’ve added some character to it,” he laughs.

Knowing I’m not going to get out of this, I slide behind the wheel. The seats are clothed and soft, and the steering wheel is worn from previous drivers. It took Camden years of saving to get a car. He’s worked at a mechanic shop learning how to fix cars, and has saved every paycheck.