The Game (That Girl, #2)(65)
My thoughts occupied me while loading the food and heading back to the reception. As I step out of the delivery truck, a sound catches my ear. It’s not one many would pick up on, but I do easily. Someone is being beaten. The darkness of the night with the faraway lights makes it easier for me to detect the sound of bones being beaten. I spent many nights this way.
The ground is uneven, with little paths leading in every direction. Being unfamiliar with the lay of the land is making it beyond difficult to maneuver my way to the punches. A desperate plea sounds, making me damn near desperate to find where it’s coming from. Instinctively, I reach for my gun, but only find keys in my pocket. Army life is still so second nature that even after years I find myself reverting to old habits.
“You f*cking cunt.” The voice becomes clearer, and the surroundings light up a bit. Finally rounding a corner, I spot a petite blonde cowered down on the ground with a brooding man standing above her. It’s clear by the sheer size of the man he would be able to snap her neck in a second. The pale pink color of the wedding party catches my eye, and instantly I wonder if it’s Michelle. There’s way too much blonde hair. It’s not her.
The blonde lifts her face up from the ground, and this is when I lose it. Blood is flowing down her face, making her features difficult to recognize. Her hair is pulled out of its fancy up-do. The man jerks her up by the hair to a standing position.
Everything inside me boils. Clearly, the situation is exactly what I think it is.
“You’re going home with me right now, Jenni. I’ll f*cking drag you if I have to.” The man pulls the helpless woman closer to him, tearing her pink dress with the action. “You’ll never hang around the Wilks boys again.”
Stepping into the slice of light covering the duo, I ask, “Is there a problem here?”
I feel the rage inside me boil further, if that’s even possible, when her brown eyes reflect back at me. She’s beyond desperate and scared. I’ve seen this look on civilians before, and every time it turns on a switch within me. I’m not playing the hero card. It’s more like knowing the difference between right and wrong and acting on it. It takes someone to make a stand.
The blonde is pulled even tighter into the man, and the sound of her dress being completely ripped from the top of her body fills the air.
“We’re f*cking fine, man. Leave.”
I move in closer to the situation, watching her reaction as I do. Once I make eye contact with her, I don’t break it. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the young lady.” My gaze bores holes into her desperate eyes. “Are you okay?”
She begins to speak, but the man rips on her hair again. This time is enough. I don’t wait for an answer or another moan of pain from the woman. Before I know what is happening, I step up and hammer the man in the face. Taken by surprise, he lets go of the girl. I grab for her and push her behind me to safety. However, my need to punish this man isn’t nearly satisfied. He’ll pay for every single ounce of pain he’s inflicted on her.
My fists fly into action, nailing him with each blow. Now the sound of crunching bones is caused by me and well deserved. I leave him with one final kick to the ribs. I’m fairly certain he’s unconscious, as his moans and begging have now stopped. I wipe my bloody knuckles on the back of my pants before turning to face the woman.
She’s cowered back down on the ground with her face buried. Her blonde mane is splayed out over knees and is dappled with spots of blood. I’m pretty sure she’s past the point of being cleaned up to go back to the wedding.
“Are you okay?” I mentally berate myself for asking such a dumbass question. Of course she’s not okay. My hands fumble a bit before they finally grab for her and rest on the top of her knee. I push away her loose hair before I find her exposed kneecap, which is scraped up too. “What can I do?”
She doesn’t respond with words. Instead her body shudders as her tears flow. She’s beyond talking and clearly not okay.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” I pat her knee, finding a piece of her flesh that’s not damaged. I run my hand up and down this spot trying to comfort her. “I’m going to pack you to my truck and take you where you need to go. Would you like me to let anyone know you’re leaving?”
I watch as her long hair sways back and forth, signaling no.
“No to me helping you, or to letting someone know?”
She slowly drags her head up to look at me, with her hair matted to both sides of her face. Her left eye is swollen shut, while most of the blood has started to dry up.
“Don’t tell anyone, please. I need to leave,” escapes her cut lips.
Without any further questioning, I stand and go back to the man who caused all of this and give him a little more of what I think of him. This time the sound of his bone crushing under my fist feels even better than last time.
I don’t take long because I don’t want to leave her in too much pain and in front of her assailant. Slowly and with more ease than I’ve used in years, I pick her up in my arms. The top half of her dress falls away from her body, while the skirt portion barely hangs onto her. She’s tense in my arms, not one bit relaxed or comforted.
I’ll never understand the urge to lay a hand on a woman. I’ve been pissed before at the opposite sex, but using my fists to solve the problem has never even crossed my mind.