Page 63 of Troublemaker
Always choose the bear, right? Maybe the bartender knew.
Fuck, I was still drunk and confused as hell by what was happening, even though I was relieved to be free of those assholes.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket with the hand that didn’t hurt, I thumbed on the flashlight and shone it…only to gasp.
Because the bear in question was Blake, beating the shit out of the two men who’d tried to hurt me.
“Coach?” I asked in a whimper through the pain.
He paused for a second. He was splattered in blood, and the men on the ground weren’t moving.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice guttural, almost inhuman.
“I—”
“They hurt you,” he said flatly, and then he was back to beating both of them to a pulp.
“Coach, you need to stop. You’ll kill them.”
He shook his head. “Oh, I’ll do much worse, sweetheart. Come here.”
I stumbled over to him, trying not to gag at how much blood was everywhere.
The men were moaning, gasping for breath. On death’s door.
I was grossed out by the blood, but I wasn’t worried for them, not at all. Instead, all I felt was satisfaction.
They’d planned to hurt me, they had hurt me, and now they were paying for their crimes.
“What’s wrong with your wrist?”
“I don’t know, I think he broke it.”
“Which one?”
I nodded to the one who was trying to crawl away.
And then shut my eyes when Coach stopped him with a shoe to the guy’s crotch, pushing down until a scream split through the air.
“You can’t kill them,” I said, a little drunk and a lot reluctant. “You’ll get sent to prison, and I’ll be all alone.”
Coach stopped, lifting his foot.
“You’re lucky,” he told the whimpering mess of a man on the ground. “That keeping her close matters more to me than sending you to hell. But I’ll be watching, I guarantee it. You try this with any other woman, I’ll have no remorse over finishing the job.”
Then, he was lifting me with his bloody hands and carrying me like a bride to the car.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“You aren’t going to thank me when I take this out on your bare ass,” he muttered. “I’ll give you a reprieve because you’re going to have one hell of a hangover, but you have a lot of punishment coming your way.”
“Yum,” I mumbled, snuggling into his arms. “You smell good.”
He snorted. “I doubt it.”
“You smell like blood and rage and like you want to protect me,” I slurred the words. “You know what’s funny?”
He was still carrying me, and even though I could feel tension in his body, his arms were gentle.
