Page 22 of Wrecked By a Devil

Then I remember Ezekiel’s wound. If he keeps using so much force, he’s going to rip his stitches. I take a look at Noah’s body barely moving on the ground.

“Stop it!” I run to them, begging Ezekiel to stop. “You don’t want to take too far, stop it!”

“Are you defending this piece of shit?”

“No,” I shake my head. “He had it coming. But please stop.”

“Did you hear that?” Ezekiel buries his face into Noah’s as he speaks, his hand firm on Noah’s neck. “You deserve it. That means if you ever get near her, I will not stop before spilling the little brain you have onto this pavement. Don’t even look at her or breathe in her direction. If you do… It will be the last thing you ever do.”

He strongly slams Noah’s head on the pavement one more time before getting up. I watch him clean his pants with the casual expression of someone who accidentally got some dirt on their clothes, not as if he was about to kill a man with his bare hands.

I shiver one more time.

“What was that?” I ask, my mind struggling to process the image in front of my eyes. “You were going to kill him!”

“Are you seriously telling me this right after what he just did to you?”

“He’s a lowlife jackass,” I snap. “But we could have just called the police and reported him.”

“Oh, really?” He raises an eyebrow as if I had just said the most naïve thing in the world. “How many times did the police help you or anyone you know when you were in a difficult situation?” When I don’t answer, he continues, adjusting his shirt. “Police doesn’t do anything until it is too late, and I’m sure working at the hospital, you already know that.”

I swallow. Ezekiel is right, I have seen more than one case of women in the ER because the police couldn’t protect them. Even when they managed to report the jackass who had hurt them, they still ended up with stitches. Or worse.

But it’s not the memory of those women that make my heart sink. It’s the memory of my own mother being beaten over and over again by my abusive stepfather. No one did anything to help her.

“You’re right.” My voice is weak when I speak again and I hate showing in front of Ezekiel how affected I am by all of this.

He gives me that annoying, knowing smile. “You owe me a favor now,” Ezekiel’s face is back to that neutral, cold, expression that I’ve gotten to know before.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” I snap back, my heart beating a little faster now. “I could have easily taken him down.” I don’t tell him how much I hate that I froze and couldn’t react.

“Right, I could see that,” His sarcasm is almost painful. “I don’t care if you think you could have taken care of it yourself, you still owe me.”

“Just take it out of my paycheck or something,” I don’t care how dangerous he is, I’m pissed that after everything that happened today, now I also have to think about owing Ezekiel Kavanagh a favor. “I don’t give favors with people who…” I bite my tongue before finishing that sentence and I see the corner of his lipsforming a smile. He’s entertained by all of this. “With people like you.”

“And what type of person am I, Riley?”

I look away and clear my throat before speaking again. “Thank you for helping me, even though I didn’t need your help,” I decide to ignore his question.

“You’re welcome,” He grins, but there is a type of darkness I have never seen in his eyes.

“You can leave now, I live here,” I point to the building.

“No way I’m leaving you alone now,” He sounds determined. “I’m walking you to your apartment.”

I sigh, but he doesn’t seem eager to back away. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

“Why did you not fight back?” As we’re climbing the stairs, Ezekiel speaks again. “Back there, you just froze…”

“That’s a long and personal story that I’m not sure I want to share with you.”

Another memory from my childhood flashes before my eyes. My mom’s lip bruised after the beating and me crying on thebathroom floor where she made me lock myself up when dad started beating her up.

I push the memory away.

“I understand that you took self-defense training,” His tone is as if he’s discussing a grocery list, and I’m not sure if I find it comforting or scary.

“How do you know that?”