Page 11 of Wind with a Chance of Wolfsbane

The sound of screeching tires filled the area as bright lights splashed over us. A dark SUV came to a halt behind the van. In the next breath, three very blurry men were hurrying from the SUV, going at the guys from the van.

The driver in the van sped off, leaving his buddies as sacrificial lambs.

One of the men from the SUV came so close to me that I was able to sort of make out his shirt. It was for the Detroit Red Wings. He went toward Mina. So did a man wearing a blue dress shirt.

The third man from the SUV, who was in a white T-shirt with something I couldn’t make out on the front and ripped jeans, charged toward me. He seized the man who had me by the hair and lifted him off the ground with one hand.

The man released my hair, and I stumbled. I fell in the direction of the curb, and White-Shirt Guy dropped my attacker. He spun and caught me before I’d have struck the curb face-first.

There was a distinct sound of crunching at the same moment as my foot came down on something on the ground.

The spot where the man’s hand connected with my bare arm heated, and my breath caught as I found myself staring up into his blurry face. Deep down, I knew he was handsome. I didn’t need to see clearly to confirm it. He also smelled really good.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

When I realized he had an English accent, he went from more than likely very handsome to super-hot instantly. Didn’t matter that I couldn’t make out much of anything without my glasses on.

Two dark blurs came at him from behind.

My eyes widened, and I gasped.

Releasing my arm, he turned, striking one in the throat and the other in the stomach. Both men went down hard and fast. White-Shirt Guy twisted around to face me. “Love, are you all right?”

I blinked and nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved.

“Harker,” said the man in the Red Wings shirt.

The other two men who had come with him both answered at the same time.

Red Wings snorted, nodding to the man nearest me. “Boss, they’re not, um, something wenormallydeal with. Want me to call the cops?”

“Dwayne, handle it!” yelled White-Shirt Guy, making me jolt.

His hand found my arm again. “Sorry. Are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’re not.”

I bent quickly and narrowed my gaze, trying to spot my glasses on the ground. I didn’t have any luck. Not a total shock considering how bad my vision was.

“Miss?” asked White-Shirt Guy.

“Glasses,” I blurted. “My glasses fell off.”

“Uh, would this be them?” asked Blue-Shirt Guy stepping close. He lifted his arm in my direction.

I felt around with my hand, and he took pity on me, placing the glasses in my palm. It was then that I realized my glasses were in more than one piece. “Crap.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re wearable,” said Blue-Shirt Guy.

I brought them to my face and attempted to put them on. One of the arms was broken off, and both lenses were cracked. One was worse than the other. I grunted and stopped trying to wear them. I held them tightly instead.

“Sorry,” said Blue-Shirt Guy.

“No. It’s not your fault,” I said quickly. “Thank you for finding them.”

Blue-Shirt Guy, whom I assumed was Dwayne, withdrew a dark object that I was guessing was a phone and stepped aside, making the call to the authorities.

“You got blood on my bag, you son-of-a—” Mina went at one of the van guys.

---