Page 53 of Wild Obsession

An old fear propels me to my feet. I start backing away,but apparently that’s not good enough for Dean. He follows as I walk backward toward the door, and two other men jump up to join him. They crowd me out of the bar and into the night.

I realize my mistake immediately.

In the bar, there were lights. In the bar, there were other people. In the bar, there was the bartender, who may have been sympathetic to my plight. Out here, there’s nothing but the ambient light of the sign on the roof. Out here, I’m completely alone against three men easily as big as me, if not bigger.

The first time one of them usesthatslur, that ugly, harsh, old word, it hits my ears in my father’s voice. The guy shoves me back by the shoulder, but I barely feel it, my body going numb as my mind rockets back eight years in time. All of a sudden I’m not a man but a teenage boy facing his parents as they tell him he has to leave his life, his friends … his love. He has to lose all of it and go to a whole new place so someone can fix him.

It didn’t work.

I’m still that kid. I’m still gay. I’m still hopelessly, destructively, pathetically in love with Keannen Summers, even if he’ll never love me back.

And I’m about to get my ass kicked for it.

The guys close in on me, Dean in the lead. I keep backing away, but I don’t have a lot of space before I’m past the bar and out of the parking lot. An open field in themiddle of nowhere isn’t going to offer me any sort of salvation, but I don’t have many other options. The second I stop moving, they’ll pounce. I’ve never been in a fight in my life, and even if I had, I doubt I could take three guys by myself. I look around, searching for any sort of help. Maybe someone will come out of the bar and I can yell for them. Maybe Cameron is looking for me after all. Maybe—

My eyes catch movement, furious, fast movement, someone rushing toward this disastrous scene with almighty purpose. They’re tall but not that broad. Dressed all in black, I can’t tell who’s coming toward me, whether it’s Cameron or maybe another one of Dean’s friends or someone else entirely.

Then the light from the bar reaches the man’s face, crashing over dark eyes ablaze with rage.

I freeze, my flight forgotten as Keannen storms toward my three assailants like death itself.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Keannen

THOUGHT BURNS AWAY IN the fires of rage as I storm toward the men encircling Tim. He catches my eyes, and his widen, fear warring with surprise. His gaze clues in his assailants, who wheel toward me to see who’s dumb enough to take on three guys by himself.

Me. I’m dumb enough. When I’m this angry, I’m dumb enough for a lot.

I have no plan, no calculations, no plot more intricate than “get to Tim.” The second I saw him in danger, something snapped, and now I’m operating on pure, rage-blind instinct.

I cock my arm back as I approach the guys, and one steps in to shove me away. The apparent leader sneers at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says. “You’reoutnumbered, even if this little fairy could fight.”

It’s been a long damn time since I’ve heard words like that used like that. Their slurs could do for an update, but I guess living in the middle of nowhere will leave you behind on the latest hateful lingo.

The guy who intervened shoves me again, and I lunge at him, but the third guy pushes me away. I stumble, but come right back, even as the trio chuckles.

“Get the hell out of here,” I snarl.

“Or what? You can’t win.”

“I don’t need to win to hurt you.”

A flicker of fear streaks across the guys’ faces, even as they laugh. Shitty bullies like this never expect anyone to swing back at them, which is why I said I don’t need to win. One broken nose will rattle them, even if I get mine broken in response.

Shit, I’m actually willing to get my ass kicked for Tim, aren’t I? The realization is dull under the roar of anger turning my vision red, but some piece of me pauses to acknowledge it. I reacted in an instant, not a beat of hesitation holding me back. I may have told Tim that I have my reservations, but when it actually mattered, absolutely nothing in this world could have kept me from flying to his rescue.

I might try to untangle that later, but right now, the leader looks like he really might take a swing at me.

I square up. This isn’t my first fight. I nearly got expelleda few times back in high school. Tim witnessed some of those bruises. I was an angry kid with a grudge against the entire world; I guess I still am, in a lot of ways. At least that shit taught me how to take a punch — and how to deliver one.

As the leader pulls back to swing, I cock my arm as well. His fist flies at my face. There’s no avoiding it, but I turn so it glances across my jaw. Even as the pain blooms bright, I swing, shoving my fist right into his gut. He got a glancing blow, but I punched the breath right out of him. By leaning into his strike, I made sure mine hit twice as hard.

He doubles over, clutching his middle and stumbling backward. My jaw is pulsing, a bruise already forming, but when I run my tongue along my teeth, they’re all where they should be, so he didn’t get me that hard. Plus, I’m still on my feet, and my opponent is clinging to his companions as he wheezes and sinks to the parking lot pavement.

One of his buddies recovers, leaving his man behind to charge at me. I sidestep the swing. The guy must be drunk. He forecast the move from the moment he stood up, and it’s a wild swipe that sends him stumbling past me without me having to do a thing.

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