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“In a rush to get back to those scumbags?” He pressed in closer. “You want me to treat you like shit and let my friends have a run at you after I’m done, say the word. They can even watch if that gets you off.”
“Look, I dunno if that’s a baby corn in your pocket or if you’re just happy to see me, but this is your last warning. Move away.”
His bloated face went red, and the trickle of fear I’d felt grew into a waterfall. “You fucking cunt. I’ll show you—”
I braced, expecting him to punch me—or worse—but from one racing beat of my heart to the next he was gone.
A thud echoed in the hall as he slammed into the opposite wall, and the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh followed.
It took a moment for my drunken brain to catch up with what my eyes were seeing—just in time to watch Judge land a second blow to the man’s already bleeding face.
“Judge!” I yelled, pushing away from the wall to try to go to him, but an arm hooked me around the waist. I turned, ready to attack, but stopped when I saw it was only Jury.
Jury took advantage of that hesitation and shifted me behind him. I tried to move back, but his arm blocked me, forcing me to lean around his frame desperately.
“You think I didn’t see you eye-fuckin’ my woman all night, you piece of shit?” Judge growled in the man’s face, his hand tight around his neck.
“Let me go,” the man wheezed, his red face paling as he clawed at Judge’s hand.
“Get him off before he kills him!” I shouted at Jury, tugging at his shirt.
But he was just as bad, his body tense as he sneered at the man. “She told you to back off. Told you to move away. You didn’t listen, so why the fuck should we?”
“Broken finger or ten might teach you to keep your fuckin’ hands off what doesn’t belong to you.”
Knowing I needed to defuse the situation before we all ended up in jail, I quickly dodged to the side, barely avoiding Jury’s grab. He caught me around the waist a moment later, but I’d already latched onto Judge’s upper arm.
“Let him go,” I begged.
“Not fuckin’ happenin’,” Judge grunted, the veins in his forearm becoming more pronounced as he squeezed. “Get her out of here.”
“No!” Shoving between him and the man, I put my hands on Judge’s chest. “Move, baby.”
The endearment slipped out, but it worked because his gaze snapped to mine. “What?”
“Move.” When he hesitated, I slid my palms to his shoulders and pushed. “Trust me.”
He didn’t remove his hand, but he took a small step to the side.
It was enough.
I had no clue what’d come over me. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe some primal energy in the air, the smell of blood and sweat and liquor warping my brain.
Or maybe, like a lot of women, I was sick of men thinking they could degrade and manhandle their way into a date.
Whatever the reason, I took that anger—including some residual pent-up ire toward Judge—turned around and pulled back before kicking the bastard right between his legs.
Hard.
Hard enough to feel like my bones were vibrating.
Hard enough to make the men in the area let out an automatic groan.
Hard enough to make the bastard wilt, barely standing even with Judge’s support.
Support Judge quickly removed, letting him crumble to the ground.
Unfortunately for him, he landed with his knees bent and spread, giving me a perfect target to kick him again. I wasn’t sure if I caught his bits or his taint, but whichever it was, it hurt him enough to make him puke a little.
