The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(38)

End tonight. Of course. There were four of them. Two strippers were dead. Deena was next on the menu. If they killed me it would even everything up and they could spend the next few years relieving their repulsive glory days.

My stomach bottomed out when someone grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me to my feet. The tugging on the strands forced me to turn and face the man I assumed was John. He was one of the blonds with short hair. The last of the boys to take a drip into madness to learn what it felt like to end the life of another human being. I got a decent visual, planted my feet, and brought my right knee into his crotch. Softness met bone. He let go and yowled like a cat in heat.

“Get a handle on that crazy bitch!” The man who’d chosen Deena for the evening’s f*cked up entertainment ordered. “The longer this takes, the bigger the risk.”

I watched him turn back to Deena, who had lost consciousness. He picked up the knife he’d dropped, and I knew if I didn’t do something right then he’d cut her throat. I started to make my move when I was grasped by the shirt and jerked forward. There was no way I could take on four men who were so much larger than me. It was impossible. Goose always told me to think smart, so I did. Left with no other choice, I did the only thing I could.

I screamed.


My call for help lasted a second or two. A fist connected with my mouth, creating a split I could feel from the crest of my upper lip all the way to the fuller bottom. The blow was hard enough to send me spinning, although somehow I did manage to remain standing. When a hand clasped around my throat, shoved me against the wall and lifted me into the air, I wanted to laugh at the irony.

Who would have thunk it? I was finally going to meet my end, and it wasn’t at the hands of a vampire, demon, or fallen angel. My ticket to the other side was provided courtesy of a perverted human cockbite.

He squeezed his fingers, applying pressure to my windpipe. I wrapped my hand around his wrists and tried to break free, gagging as I attempted to breathe, gurgling on my saliva. I kicked out with my legs as best I could, but since I was unable to touch the ground it didn’t do squat.

“So disappointing.” John’s gaze told me how unhappy he was I would be the one to introduce him to murder. “I don’t like brunettes.”

I peered from the corner of my eye and my heart sank. Deena was on the ground, a knife was against her throat, and the man who planned to f*ck her as he killed her was unbuckling his pants. Unable to do anything else, I released my attacker’s wrist, brought my fingers to his face and raked my nails from his temple to his chin. The vampire strength ensured I removed skin—four rows of it to be exact—when I clawed him.

I hit the ground again as Johnny—the friendly neighborhood pervert—howled. But I didn’t get to enjoy my reprieve or use it to my advantage. You can only piss a man off in so many ways before he loses his temper.

A kick in the side isn’t the most painful thing in the world—I’d had worse—but repeated landings in the same spot were not a good thing. A snap and sharp bite of pain told me one or more of my ribs were probably cracked, and a dull cramp warned me he was dangerously close to my kidneys. I quickly wrapped my body into the fetal position, trying to protect my face. Another kick to my ribs was like pouring alcohol into an open wound. I screamed again and hoped like hell someone at the bar—Cletus, Butch, or Hector—heard and came running. I waited for the next kick, clenching my muscles to take the impact.

“That’s right, you little bitch,” John snarled. “You’re going to die slow.”

“I don’t think so,” a deep, dark voice interrupted.

I lifted my head from the shelter of my chest, peered up through my arms, and watched in astonishment as Bane—the arms dealer and someone I hardly knew—came to my rescue. He was dressed from head to toe in black, from the black cap on his head to the dark boots on his feet. The man who sold me several guns the day before wasn’t alone. The men with him were just as massive as Bane, with bulging muscles and tattoos.

The murderous bastards who attacked me tried to strategize, coming together in a semi-circle. Then odd sounds penetrated the alley, little poofs of some sort. It was only after the men dropped, and I saw their blood creating large puddles on the concrete, that I noticed the guns in the hands of Bane and another man.

“Someone call the police,” Bane said in a menacing voice, without looking at me, surveying the damage. “Keep it short and sweet. We’ve got to move.”

One of the men took a knee by Deena’s side, lifted her shirt, and examined her injuries.

“How bad is it?” Bane asked.

“The knife bounced off her rib. She’ll live.”

I managed to make it to my feet when Bane finally glanced at me. He strode over and wrapped an arm around my waist when I stumbled.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area,” he replied evasively. He captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger and studied my face. “How about you? How bad are you hurt?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Figures,” he muttered and released my chin.

“What does?”

“You didn’t thank me when I cut you a deal. I’m not surprised you wouldn’t think about saying it now.”

The man had a point. “Thanks,” I mumbled in embarrassment.