Page 33 of Small Town Hunter

“I’m still talking to you, darlin’.” He laughed, his long hair touching my cheek. “You look like that Wheeler boy, you know that? You his big sister or something?”

I fought through the lump in my throat to scream, say something,doanything. Why wouldn’t my body listen? What was happening to me?

“We don’t really like your kind around here, but I’m nice.” He pinched my waist. “Come on, say something, don’t be shy.”

“Let go of me,” I managed. “Or I’ll scream.”

“You’ll scream for me?” He smiled at my pathetic threat, and then actually grabbed my ass. “Look, I have good shit at my place— liquor, drugs, whatever you want. You can shake that pussy in my face all night, chocolate. Let me suck out the cream.”

And then a shadow literally darkened the aisle. The man jumped back like I was on fire and then all hell broke loose.

Crash shoved me aside, grabbed the biker by the collar on his jacket and jerked him onto his tiptoes like he weighed nothing at all. The man scrabbled for his waist, but Crash already had his gun pressed deep into the man’s stomach. It all happened in the literal blink of an eye, and of course I went and spilled an entire tray of Mike & Ikes on the floor.

“Repeat that,” Crash ordered the man in a quiet voice.

When the man said nothing, Crash barked, “Trina?”

“H-he said he wanted me to shake my private parts in his face and suck out the cream.”

Crash went red as a cranberry and started shoving the man towards the doors. I looked around for the worker but couldn’t see him. At the door, Crash set the man down and spun him so fast I barely caught it between one blink and another. He tossed the biker down on the concrete outside like a sack of potatoes and then booted the man so hard in the stomach he threw up.

You could have heard a pin drop.

“TRINA!” Crash called in an aggravated tone.

“I’m coming,” I snapped, still trying to pick up the Mike & Ike’s.

“NOW!”

“You can leave it, Miss,” the worker said to me, magically appearing. “I was going to throw those out, anyway.”

“What the hellis wrong with you?” Crash growled at me when we were back in the car. “And what’s with the Mike & Ike’s?”

“What’s wrong withme?” I said shrilly. Was he blaming me for attracting that horrible man’s attention?

“Why didn’t you throw him off? Next time, run. Fight. Don’t just stand there. This is the second time I watched you just take a beating.”

“I know that!” I shouted raggedly.

He saw my expression and his tone eased up. “When you get out to California, take some self-defense classes. Or better yet, a gun.”

“I will never own a gun,” I told him. “Much less shoot somebody.”

Crash’s jaw was still working, fury written all over his face. “I hope I broke his goddamned ribcage.”

I shrank away from him.

“Trina. Hey.”

“What?” I mumbled.

“Look at me. You’re okay. He’s gone. You can stop breathing like a freight train.”

“I am not breathing like a freight train.”

He chucked under my chin. “You were brave enough to stand up to that dirty preacher. You can stand up to anybody out here. Win, lose, or draw, you stand on ten toes and fight. Understand?”

“I understand. I know that. I just froze.” I shuddered.

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