Page 42 of Down & Dirty

“Sky!” I took off, throwing the others out of my way.

She’d been tossed onto her brother’s bike, and was struggling to get upright. Kip had Ronnie by the shirt and was shoving him right into her, pressing her back onto the sharp metal.

I plowed into them, ripping Kip off Ronnie with a roar. I saw red, my blood pounding through me like a freight train.

“Fuck off, Waters!” I snarled as I threw him into the line ofcoaches at his back. Billy had a hold of Ronnie behind me, and when I spun around, I grabbed him next.

“Settle the fuck down.” He huffed out a breath, but his body went lax.

Shoving past him, I went to Sky. She was just as red-faced as her brother, but she had actual blood to go along with it.

The heels of her hands were scraped and bleeding and she had a tear in the sleeve of her black shirt, a deep gash showing through it. My hands were trembling as I ran them over her body, trying to see where else she was hurt.

“Are you okay?” I wanted to turn around and punch the shit out of both of them all over again.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but her voice was shaking.

“Let me . . .”

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to push me back. But the minute she took a step her leg gave out. There was a rip in her jeans and another cut ran across her knee.

The sight of her bleeding, her sharp intake of breath from the pain, it all closed around me. I bent down and scooped her into my arms.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, apprehension mixing with annoyance.

“Getting you away from these assholes,” I growled, my eyes fixed on the office across the lot.

I vaguely heard voices behind me, Ronnie and Billy asking about her. I didn’t give a fuck. My heart was pounding with the urge to pummel something, but I needed to take care of her first.

Sky didn’t say a word as I yanked the door open and strode through the garage to the empty infirmary on the other side. I felt her eyes on me, the confusion written across her face. But she stayed silent until the second I laid her carefully on the exam table.

“Cory?” Her voice was soft, like she was talking to a baby bird or a wounded animal. Not a two-hundred-pound man.

I ignored her, ripping open drawers and gathering supplies. Gauze. Med tape. Four by fours. Alcohol.

“Cory?” she tried again, this time she reaching for my arm. Gentle fingers wrapped around my wrist and stopped me short.

“I’m going to clean you up. You’ll be all right.” I was assuring her, and buying time for my temper to recede. But when I finally let myself look at her, she didn’t look like she needed the assurance. She looked more worried about me.

“It’s a couple of scrapes, Cory. I’m okay.”

My throat was tight, a sense of overblown panic clamping down on my chest, even though I knew she was right. “I know.”

Her soft fingers were still wrapped around me, and she tugged me closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, let me get a look at these.” I reached for her wrist, turning it over carefully, trying to see how deep it was. She let me, but her questioning gaze remained.

I worked in silence as I cleaned and wrapped her arm. She was a trooper, barely flinching as I disinfected the cuts and scrapes on her hands. I knew the alcohol had to sting, but she was motionless, letting me get the sand and dirt from each one. When I picked them up one at a time and blew cool air across them to ease the burn, her wide, searching eyes never left mine.

Slowly, my heart settled. My lungs filled a little easier, and my hands stopped shaking. I’d never reacted like that before. But I also couldn’t think of a single other woman I’d cared about getting hurt in front of me. Not since my mom.

When I couldn’t get to the cut on her knee through the tear in her pants, I slipped my fingers in each side and yanked, ripping them practically seam to seam.

“I knew you were going to do that,” she muttered, her lips curling into a coy grin.

The sight of her smile unwound me, her humor working into my chest like cool water.

“I’ll buy you another pair.”

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