Page 6 of Now Comes the Dark

The Stranger

Roman kept walking. It was naïve, and he didn’t have a hope in hell of making it to the safety of another bar or the taxi rank. Bloody stupid of him. He should have arranged for an Uber to take him home while he was still in the bar. Hadn’t Phil warned him just minutes ago to take a car from door to door? He kept his head down and increased his pace, hoping the men would get bored and move on.

The car drew ahead of him before pulling onto the kerb. Two men jumped straight out, followed moments later by the driver.

Roman’s pulse raced. He looked for an escape route, a place to run for, but the men formed a semicircle around him, forcing his back to the wall. They were an intimating bunch. The one who had called him a faggot was the largest of the three, a real no-neck meathead. He was white with a grubby-looking suntan and tattoos that covered his skin from the neck to his fingertips. The second was a gingery blond and bearded. Roman might have fancied him if he wasn’t some scumbag about to kick his head in.The third guy was the ugliest of the three—short and puggy with a piggy nose and mean little eyes.

“What’s your hurry?” the big man asked, shoving Roman in the shoulder. “Have you got something better to do than talk to us?”

Roman was seething inside. They were the kind of bullies found in any school yard—a few years older but just as stupid, the mean-spirited good-for-nothing jock types who love nothing better than picking on the weaker kids. His teenage years had been blighted by boys exactly like these. The faces might be different, but their toxic masculinity was painfully familiar.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Roman said, hating the feeble sound of his own voice. “I’m on my way home. Just let me past.”

The short guy giggled while the other two puffed themselves up with bravado.

Arseholes. Three against one. Is that what it took to make these bastards feel like men?

Despite the dangers in Blyham, five murders in the last year and dozens of homophobic assaults, Roman hadn’t considered himself to be at risk. It was something that happened to other people. He flitted about the village having fun, paying little attention to the warnings issued by Phil and the other old-timers. He had never once found himself in a sticky situation.

Until now.

And that was all it took. One mistake. These guys could kick the shit out of him and leave him for dead. There was nothing he could do to defend himself.

Surprise was all he had. Roman spun around and shot through the gap between the ginger guy and the short one. If he could make it back to Julie’s, the bar might not have locked the door yet, and he would find sanctuary inside.

The men were quicker. One of them swept Roman’s legs from under him with a deft kick, and he sprawled forward, breaking his fall and saving his face, while skinning his palms.

The men roared with delight.

“He’s a feisty little cunt,” one of them said.

Another grabbed the back of Roman’s T-shirt and hauled him to his feet. Before Roman could resist, the short guy delivered a sharp fist to his guts. Roman doubled over, winded by the force of the punch. Bile surged at the back of his throat.

Shit. This is really happening. Even now, reeling from the first strike, he felt like an observer, as though watching himself from above…except he wasn’t. He was slap bang in the middle of this cluster-fuck, and from the sound of their merriment, these bastards had barely gotten started.

“How many dicks have you munched on tonight?” the tall one asked, twisting Roman’s T-shirt tighter. “Is that what you’ve been up, eh? Suckin’ cocks? I bet it wasn’t enough, not for a cocksucker like you.”

“No chance,” Ginger chipped in. “He can’t get enough of it. I bet he’s gagging for a dick now. No such thing as too much for these gay boys.”

“How would you know?” Roman growled, unable to stop himself. Righteous anger possessed him. “Unless you’re talking from experience. You look the type.”

His insolence earned him another punch in the guts. Roman was ready for it this time and tensed his abs, easing the force behind the blow.

The tall man who held him by the scruff of his shirt delivered another fist to his back, just below the ribcage. Roman bellowed and dizziness overwhelmed him.Now, I’ve had it.

His vision returned in time to see an object fly through the air. He had barely grasped what it was when the bottle struck the ginger man on the back of the head. It hit his skull with asatisfying clunk. The man wavered then dropped to his knees, clutching his head.

“What thefuck?” the ginger man yelled.

A figure rushed out of the night and spun the shortest and ugliest of his tormentors around. Roman registered a crack of fist against skin and a sickening crunch before the man staggered backwards, covering his face with his hands. Blood gushed between the bastard’s fingers.

“My nose,” he screamed. “My nose, it’s broken.”

The grip on Roman’s T-shirt loosened, and he pulled away from the tall man.

What the hell is happening?

It took his muddled brain seconds to get a handle on it. The guy from the club, the object of his desire, had appeared from nowhere. He’d already dealt with two of the aggressors. The big man made a swing for the stranger with his massive fist. His saviour ducked and sidestepped the blow before delivering an incredible kick to the man’s groin. Despite what they had done to him, even Roman winced at the viciousness and force behind the kick.

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