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Same old. Same old. Blyth.
“Cut the shit, girlie. Make it easy, or I’ll make it hurt,” he promises, reaching around me to tug at the button on my pants. The movement allows me an opening, and I whirl around to face my attacker. He’s a plain-looking man, clean-cut, with eyes that are bloodshot from booze. Truth be told, I would have never cataloged him as a threat. But it doesn’t matter now. Bringing up my knee, I hit him hard in the balls, but he shifts, and I miss, so I do the only thing I can think of.
Raising my hands, I claw at his face while screaming my head off. At that moment, my assailant stumbles back, and the sound of the bathroom door being thrown wide open fills the air.
Murphy appears in the doorway like a vengeful god, striding into the small space, his eyes dark with anger. They land on the creep who’s still touching me, and the darkness deepens, allowing me to realize just how fearsome he can be. He took my little antics in stride, but this is something else.
Murphy the man is gone, replaced by a lethal soldier.
Like a flash, he’s across the room, and now the other man is the one pinned against the wall. His fists move so fast that I can’t track how many times he punches the guy, each loud hit followed by a cry of pain.
Murphy doesn’t say a word, beating the man who dared to touch me without letting up. He doesn’t even break a sweat as thump after thump echoes in the small room. The man’s mouth bleeds, then his eyes roll back, and it dawns on me that Murphy has no intention of stopping. He’s completely consumed by the fires of his fury.
The whole scene is fucking hot as hell. I’ve never had anyone defend me like that. Though, I guess I’ve never been assaulted in a bathroom before, either…
Regardless, my panties get wet as I watch my man’s muscles bunch with each swing, knocking him around like a little rag-doll bitch. My heart flutters with excitement, and I can’t wait to get Murphy out of this place as adrenaline floods my veins.
Good. Scum deserves to get beat.
The realization that he may never stop dawns on me, and I step forward, placing a hand on his back. The cotton of his shirt is damp with sweat, and he grunts his acknowledgment, never stopping his fists of fury. Maybe I should be nervous or traumatized or whatever, but if anything, a sense of complete and utter safety fills me.
“Murphy, he’s almost unconscious. It’s time to get out of here. We can’t have you getting arrested before the wedding,” I murmur, rubbing his lower back in soothing circles.
“He touched you,” Murphy growls, grabbing the man by the throat and squeezing until his eyes roll back. My nipples pucker and more arousal floods my core—is something wrong with me?
Licking my lips, I try again with a bit more urgency. I couldn’t care less what happens to this creep, but we’ve come so far, and there’s no way I’m letting Tilly and Drew down.
“And you saved me. Now, let’s get out of here before the cops decide we need to have a chat,” I cajole, injecting just a bit of authority into my tone.
Murphy releases a deep sigh and finally listens, allowing the useless pile of human waste to fall to the ground. For good measure, I kick out and bring my foot crashing down on the pile of flesh between my attacker’s legs, and he rewards me with a pathetic whimper of pain. It makes the most satisfying squelch, and I grind down for good measure.
“Can’t be a rapist if you can’t use your dick,” I say with a shrug, grabbing Murphy’s hand and tugging him out the door and leaving the sobbing man on the filthy bathroom floor.
The gas station attendant stares at us with his mouth agape as I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and grab some snacks to go.
A girl’s gotta eat.
“There’s a dirty rapist on your bathroom floor. Might want to call the cops to come take out the trash,” I shout to the man while bundling Murphy right out the door and ushering him into the car. His eyes are glassy and he hasn’t said a word, so I shove him toward the passenger side.
“Keys, please,” I demand, holding out my hand, and just like that, he blinks and comes back to me.
“You’re not driving my truck.”
“I can handle your truck just as well as I handle your cock. You certainly found me capable last night,” I tease, darting forward for a quick hug. His scent envelopes me, and his warmth burns that creep’s touch away. There’s no room for anything but the deep sense of belonging when I’m in his arms.
“You can handle anything, Trouble,” he whispers against my hair before dropping a kiss on my head, making everything right with the world.
Sirens sound in the distance, and my mouth goes dry. With a squeeze, I release Murphy and spin to grab the car door handle. He quickly boosts me into the cab.
“Time to fly,” I shout with a cheesy grin as he makes his way around the car and jumps behind the wheel.
Chapter Ten
Murphy
Adrenaline pushes through my veins, making my heart pound and my mind whirl. Some piece of filth touched my girl. The cops. Running away.
What the fuck is going on?
