Page 39 of Texting My Valentine

Sheis all that matters: her future, her poetry, her life.

“Maybe I’ll give you a choice,” the bastard says. “You can sacrifice your own life and take a bullet for this ungrateful bitch.”

The moment he turns as if to aim the gun at Tori—the second I feel some slack in his grip on the gun—I grab his wrist and wrench it violently. He roars as his bone makes asnapnoise, and the gun clatters to the ground. The other men leap at me.

I black out for a moment. In the brief darkness, I see an image of Tori in a wedding dress, her cheeks glowing with pregnancy. Funny the things a man thinks in a life-or-death scenario.

When I ‘wake up,’ adrenaline rushing through me, I’ve cracked both of Damien’s goons across the jaw. They stumble away from me and take off. I spin the second they are gone and leap on Damien when he tries to pick up his gun. I thunder an elbow into the side of his head, running on pure instinct.

“Stop!” Tori yells when Damien tries to stand up.

I look at her. She’s got the pistol in her hand, aiming it at Damien, tears streaming down her cheeks. Despite the obvious stress, she looks strong, ready to pull the trigger if it comes to that.

“You heard the lady,” I grunt, grabbing the front of his shirt and shaking him.

Damien sneers, not seeming to care that his arm is twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Don’t fucking look at her,” I growl. “Who do you think you are, you sick bastard? Did you seriously think I was going to let you hurt her? I’ll never letanybodyhurt her, understand me? Never.”

Tori gasps, fear flickering into her beautiful eyes for a moment. It’s like the fear is aimed at me, not Damien. She’s more afraid of my declaration than what Damien tried to do.

“Tori, call the cops,” I say. “And give me that.”

I offer a hand for the gun. As Tori motions to give it to me, the rat chooses his moment. He throws his broken hand at my face, causing me to duck, giving him just enough space to twist out of his shirt and dart down the street.

When I step forward as if to chase him, Tori lets out a sob. It’s enough to make me stop. I don’t want to abandon her. What if the other two return? What if I lose sight of Damien, and he doubles back?

I toss his shirt onto the ground, then take the gun from Tori’s hand. Pulling her into my arms feels natural. But I sense her holding back. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to think this experience has earned me too much affection in her eyes.

She wants me to know she’s still not in this for true love.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pushing against me, distancing herself.

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. I’d never let that happen.”

Her eyes glisten, then she turns away as if she can’t look at me when I make declarations like this.

“I need to call the cops,” she says, taking a step back.

I nod. “We’ll both need to give statements. I need to make a call, too.” I tuck the pistol into my waistband and walk to the other side of the alley, taking out my cell.

My nanny, Catelina, answers quickly. “Dr. Whitmore,” she says.

“Hey, Cat,” I reply. “I’m sorry to do this…”

“Would you like me to stay for the night?” she says.

I almost tell her no. A few hours will be fine, but can I really leave Tori now? If I did and those low lives returned, I’d never forgive myself. “Yes, if you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s okay with me, Dr. Whitmore.”

“Can I talk to him?” I ask, familiar guilt twisting in me.

“Who… Elliot, or LEGO-las?”

Despite the mayhem, I manage a slight grin. “Come again?”

“It’s his new name, apparently. He’s not Elliot anymore. He’s LEGO-las, likeLord of the Ringsmixed with LEGOs.”

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