Page 22 of Protecting Bianca

There was a scuffle at the corner. At first, I thought it was two guys getting into it, but when they moved under the streetlight, I noticed the feminine curve of a cheek and realized one of them was a woman.

I wished I could say there was a thought in my brain when I pulled over, but there wasn’t. It was pure instinct. Or recklessness. Either way, I didn’t think about what I would do next, just knew I wasn’t going to drive past some guy beating on this woman.

I jumped out of the driver’s side and my brain quickly assessed that he wasn’t carrying a weapon. I grabbed the man by the back of his hoodie and pulled him off of the woman. She fell to the floor once she was released, but scurried back up.

“What the fuck?” The man in the gray hoodie shouted at me.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded, but held her cheek. I couldn’t see any injuries, but it was dark, and she was mostly covered by her coat and scarf.

“Do you want me to call the police?” I asked her.

She stared at the man, and he pushed forward, but I stopped him with a fist to his collar. “Whoa.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I sensed the blade before he moved it, or perhaps I read his intentions in his eyes. Either way, I blocked the knife before he could stick it in my gut, but the bastard still cut a deep gash into my forearm.

“Oh my God,” the woman screamed.

The coward looked at me and must have sensed my anger rising because he hightailed it and ran down the street.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked. “Here.”

She tore off her scarf and tied it over my bloody forearm to staunch the bleeding. “Thanks.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re thanking me? I should be the one thanking you. Why did you pull over?”

“Because I saw the whole thing happening as I was driving.”

She shook her head. “People walked by and did nothing. You could have driven away, but you stopped.”

“It was nothing.”

“Not to me.”

She placed her hand gently on my forearm. “Thank you.” When she moved closer to me, I noticed the bruise on her jaw.

“You should go to a hospital.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“I insist.”

“This,” she pointed to her jaw, “is old. We just had some words tonight. I’m ok.”

“What I saw didn’t look okay to me.” I pulled a card from my wallet. “This is the number of someone you can call. Her name is Gabriella, and she helps women like you get out.”

“I don’t—”

“Maybe not today. But maybe you’ll need her tomorrow. Just keep the card.”

She stared at it and then slid it into the back of her jeans. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s just a scratch.” I looked up at the building. “Do you live here?”

She nodded. “I’ll wait until you get inside.”

She smiled. “What’s your name, anyway?”

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