Page 10 of The Thug And His Doll

The arsehole on his knees responds by clearing his throat and spitting at my friend, earning him a punch to the side of the head from me that has him careening sideways as I shove him to the ground with a boot to his back for good measure. Ordinarily, a man in this situation would realise that the wise thing to do is to back the fuck off, but he pushes upright, his expression telling me he’s not backing down anytime soon.

Time to teach him a lesson.

“Drix!” Benedict calls, and in the few seconds it takes for the arsehole to launch himself at me, Benedict has kicked the discarded knife towards me. I crouch down, scooping it up, slashing it across the guy’s cheek as I rise before he’s even realised what’s happened.

Blood seeps from the wound that runs from his lip to his ear, and he stumbles backwards, his hand covering his face as he reels off a stream of curse words.

“You have a choice. Fuck off now, or die. It’s up to you,” I warn, stepping towards him.

Violence is as familiar to me as breathing, and even though I dislike that part of me, it comes in useful when the need arises. Fortunately for him, common sense kicks in and he backs up, putting as much space between us as possible.

“You fucking crazy arsehole! I’m outta here.”

“Wise move,” I shout after him, watching as he climbs into his car and drives away like a bat out of Hell.

“You know, I had that handled,” Ben says, taking the knife from me as he grins.

“I know you did, but you got a bar to run. So I figured I could see him off and save you the trouble,” I reply with a shrug.

“Drink on me?” he offers, swiping the knife clean on a washcloth he’s got tucked into his back pocket.

“Nah, I got something to do,” I reply, checking myself over to make sure I haven’t got any of the arsehole’s blood on me. “Got to grab something real quick. Catch you later?”

“Sure thing,” Benedict replies, shaking his head with a laugh. “It’s not a good night at the bar unless some kind of brawl breaks out, I guess?”

“Yeah,” I mutter as he pushes open the door and disappears out of sight.

I take a minute to shake off the thrumming violence in my veins before grabbing Toby’s things and heading back inside the bar. The last thing I want to do is scare either of them.

By the time I return, Toby has stopped crying and Lia is kneeling at his feet, his dirty clothes piled in the corner of the cubicle.

“Here we go,” I say, handing her the clothes and wipes, and Toby his teddy.

He takes it from me, hiccupping as he sucks his thumb. Naked from the waist down, he’s shivering a little.

“Thank you,” Lia murmurs as I avert my gaze so she can clean and dress him.

“It’s no problem,” I mutter, taking a step back to give them some space.

Once he’s dressed, she picks up the dirty clothes, and takes his hand in hers. I drop my gaze to the filthy floor and his bare feet. “This floor ain’t too clean. I should probably have a word with Ben about that.”

Lia drops her gaze to the floor, and automatically reaches down to pick Toby up, but she’s juggling the dirty clothes, wipes and her handbag, so I act on instinct and scoop the kid up in my arms.

“You all better now?” I ask gruffly, resting the little guy on my hip.

He nods, sniffling as he looks up at me with his thumb in his mouth and his teddy clutched in his arms. The kid looks worn out.

“I’ve got him,” Lia says, reaching for him.

“It’s okay, I ain’t gonna run off with him,” I reply, giving her a smile that she just frowns at.

The tension between us makes me feel as uncomfortable as she’s clearly feeling right now.

“Look–” I begin, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.

“I don’t know what you want from me, but I can assure you I’m not the type of woman who…”

“Who what?” I ask, as Toby heaves out a sigh and rests his head against my chest, his eyelids drooping. Without thinking, I haul the kid closer, rubbing my hand over his back. He lets out another sigh, as Lia’s brows draw together.

---