A kiss for Ree

Chapter 13|He's Ludwig 🎉

“Let go of my hand!” I snapped, trying to sound resilient. He had such a firm grip on both my wrists that they were starting to hurt.

He cackled and so did the rest of his gang, like a row of remote-controlled toys. His bad breath hit my face, a nasty mix of alcohol and something worse. It slid down my throat like it wanted to stay. I wanted to throw up.

“Security no dey anywhere near here. Better shut up before I slap you,” he slurred; definitely drunk.

Gosh. I struggled so hard my elbow slammed into Lila’s car. The impact sent a vibration up my arm that shook my whole body. The ache in my elbow made me grit my teeth; hot droplets of tears escaped my eyes.

Ouch.

He turned to the others. “Oya, hold her!” he commanded. “Make I teach her one or two.”

Then, as he faced me again, a whirl of wind sliced past my face. Before I knew it, my hands were free and the dreadlocked guy was flying through the air, tumble-rolling back into his gang.

Shock pinned me to the spot. My hands stayed slightly raised in front of my chest, the same way they’d been when he held me. Did I develop superpowers?

The dreadlocked guy staggered, dazed. His friends struggled to keep him upright for nearly a minute.

Okay, what do I do? Run to the supermarket and find Lila? Run to the gate where there’s security? Jump in the car and lock the doors?

The maniacs were now staring at me, frowns carved hard across their faces. The clown-faced guy blinked slowly, one hand over his face. There was no time to think or run, so I dropped into a Karate stance, balling my fists and bracing to fight.

But they weren't looking at me, their gazes were fixed upward, over my head.

“Sure you can handle them?” a coarse voice asked.

I yelped and spun around. There he was, the really tall guy with beige hair in a brown jacket. He raised an eyebrow, studying me like I was a question on a test.

Oh. I hadn’t suddenly developed superpowers, it was Mr. Tall Guy who’d thrown the punch. I straightened fast.

“Stay out of the way, love.” He slammed the car door where he’d jumped out and gently pushed me behind him. Then he moved.

Tall beige-hair guy fought them, literally. Punching, kicking, throwing them off their feet as they tried to swarm him.

“Ohh!”

“Awww!”

“Yow!”

“Eyy!”

“Ahhh!”

The crowd gasped and cheered after every hit, adding spice to the brawl. My breath caught at how swift he was. It felt cinematic — a blur of bright beige sweeping through the crowd, his boot finding their exposed boxers and asses with deliberate, stinging thwacks. Signature marks.

The idiot who’d been holding me wriggled free and lunged at me. I screamed and staggered back until my spine hit the car.

He cursed under his breath, then slapped me across the face — hard. His hand snatched for my neck and pressed it into the car, choking me. He raised his other hand to hit again, but it never came.

The grip on my throat snapped with a loud, sickening crack. The clown-faced guy went hollow.

“F*cker!” Beige guy spat, punching him across the face. Blood and a tooth spat onto the pavement; I could see it even through my tears.