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“You’re scaring me. Stop it!”
With my pulse ringing in my ears, I think I hear a door slam, but I can’t be sure. He’s got me pinned in the small alcove of my door, where I’m trapped on two sides by brick columns. David puts his arm on either column, leaning forward until his breath visibly pants into my face. He’s almost spitting now, mouth curling into an ugly frown.
“Christ, Faith, I’ve wanted you since I was twelve! I’ve spent years being nice to you. Trying to get in your pants, and you can’t swing me one favor?”
“I’ll do you a favor, buddy,” a voice says behind David.
He jumps and turns around, only to be greeted by a left hook to the face. I yelp as David reels to the side, jumping back before laying eyes on the assailant.
It’s Vincent, in nothing but jeans and a white T-shirt, with a wild look in his eyes. A look that makes me think he might just kill David.
6
VINCENT
It waspure luck that I caught the college boy heading up Faith’s driveway. I had been sitting at my living room window, admiring the snowfall, nursing my first cup of coffee of the day. Getting ready to head out for my next assignment. Then I saw him.
He couldn’t have looked more like a John Hughes movie character if he tried. Slicked-back hair, expensive jeans, school-colors letterman jacket, for Christ’s sake. When I saw Faith step onto the porch, I left the window and made a beeline to the front door, opening it just enough to listen in on their conversation.
I simply wanted to listen, not intervene, but the moment I heard Faith say she was scared, I saw red. I wasn’t human in that moment, merely a tower of rage and jealousy. My mind turns to its animal instincts as the blood courses white-hot in my veins. I push the front door open and slam it behind me without a thought, almost grunting as I sprint from my door to hers.
I cut across my front lawn, hopping over the low fence that separates our driveways. The boy—thatasshole—is yelling at her. Yelling that he deserves her. That she owes him. That my obsession, my woman, my Faith owes him something just because he whacked off thinking about her in high school.
“…you can’t swing me one favor?” he yells, and I take the last few strides to get behind him. The guy’s around my height and looming over Faith in her doorway. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is crowding her and raising his voice, but he’s about to be in a world of hurt.
“I’ll do you a favor, buddy.” The words come out in a hoarse growl, scratching my throat. He jumps at the sound of my voice, and I waste no time in winding up my left fist.
There’s a satisfyingthwackas skin meets skin.
The moment moves in slow motion—fist meets face, his face registers shock, surprise, then pain. He reels backward, clutching his nose. I draw my arm back to my side and see my lovely Faith, mouth open in a tightO. Her hair is in braided pigtails, and her face is fresh and dewy. But even the sight of my love could not pull me out of this fitful rage I’m in.
“The hell, bro?” the college boy says, kneeling half-over on the porch.
I’m breathing hard and can feel my chest rising up and down.
“I’m not yourbro,” I snarl as I take a step closer. The boy tries to step back but stumbles on his feet. I grab the collar of his jacket and pull him toward me. He loses his balance stepping off of the small porch and stumbles even closer to me. With the fabric of his cliche jacket wrapped around my hand, I bring my face level to his.
“Hey, c’mon, this is just a misunderstanding,” he pleads, his face burning red. He’s scared shitless. I can smell it on him. This isn’t my first time shaking somebody down.
“I don’t think so. She told you to back off. You didn’t listen. What is it that I’m misunderstanding?” I keep my tone even, but the rage bubbles beneath.
The boy gulps, realizing what deep shit he’s in. This guy better be glad we’re out in the open because if we were alone, he’d already be dead.
“You’re going to leave,” I say in a low voice, hoping Faith will not hear, “and you are not going to come back. If you do, I’ll deal with you, and not so gently next time. She wants you to leave her alone. Are you going to listen? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?”
“I’ll go. I’ll go.” His voice is laced with panic, almost like he knows what I am thinking. Because in my mind, I’m already killing him. I’m going to make him suffer for touching her.
His eyes are wide, and he tries to raise his hands to surrender. Our faces are close enough that I can feel his breath, but I stare into his eyes, unblinking, for a long moment before letting go of his collar and turning away. The boy stumbles again, trying to regain his balance.
Once he’s back on his feet, I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. Faith is still standing silently on the porch, one hand clapped over her mouth in shock. The boy adjusts his jacket, trying to save face in front of his high school crush.
It’s funny, in a way. He thinks he’s so smooth and grown-up, but I turned him back into a sniveling schoolboy in seconds. I resist the urge to puff out my chest as I turn to watch him walk down the snowy driveway.
It’s not until he is back behind the wheel of his car that I realize how cold the skin feels on my arms. My blood has begun to cool, and I no longer wear a warm coat of rage.
I turn back to Faith. Her hand is no longer clapped over her mouth, but she looks at me with a mystified expression. I can read her eyes like a book: she’s scared, thankful, nervous, and happy all at the same time.
God, she has no idea how to mask her feelings. It makes my heart ache, the way every emotion plays clearly across her face. I watch worry overtake all the other feelings. Oh, no. She doesn’t see me as a protector; she sees me as a beast. I have to show her that there’s nothing to be scared of when it comes to us.
