Page 61 of Guarding Grace (Hawk Security #2)

Peyton

I said my goodbyes. With the feel of my breasts pressed up against March’s hot, muscular back still imprinted on my brain—not to mention the feel of me on top of him after I’d fallen off the last time—I was very close to making a big mistake with the former SEAL turned bodyguard.

He’d offered to drive me home. “ I’ll guard your body anytime .” He hadn’t actually said that corny line, but that was the vibe he gave off.

I couldn’t go there, so I declined.

Distance . I needed distance from him. Breaking my no man rule was not in the cards. I’d gotten too friendly with someone in Atlanta, and I didn’t intend to repeat the mistake.

Outside, I noticed the bank across the street and wished I could use an ATM, but that was out of the question. I didn’t trust that my simple fake ID was enough to open an account, and the risk of being tracked was too high.

That stupid second game of pool with Pete had cost me some of the lunch money that was supposed to last me until my next paycheck. I’d have to raid my depleted safety stash or not eat for a few days. I hated cheating on my budget.

My money had been so depleted after my move from Atlanta that I’d given myself a strict budget to replenish my reserve. The bulk of my paychecks got cashed and stashed away in the bottom of my backpack for when I had to move again. That reserve was my lifeline.

I started across the street to where I’d locked up my bike. This wasn’t a well-lit section of town, and the lamp post down the street on that side was the most secure thing around to lock up to.

A pair of guys stood at the end of the block, drinking beer and arguing about the Lakers game. Looking both ways, I crossed the street.

When I reached my bike, I squatted down to spin the combination lock. The guys arguing about the Lakers game were louder now. When I looked that direction, I realized why. They were walking toward me. I nervously worked the lock, but it was dark here so I had to go slow.

I pulled on the lock.

Shit. It didn’t open.

I spun it to try again.

I glanced left, moving my head as little as possible.

They were still walking this way, but thankfully, on the other side of the sidewalk.

Taking out my phone for some light, I tried the combination again.

The pair were still talking basketball as they passed me.

I let out a relieved breath when the lock clicked open.

“Give us the watch.”

I’d been so focused on the lock that I hadn’t noticed them backtrack. When I stood, I was cornered, with one on either side of me.

A set of three cars raced toward us on the street, so I couldn’t run back to the bar until they passed.

The short one flashed a knife. “Give us your money or I’ll cut you.” His wild eyes spelled drugs.

I gulped and backed away toward the building behind me. This was bad, and with drugs involved, it could get worse in a hurry.

“The watch,” the guy with the buzzcut demanded, leaning a little to the right.

Shorty motioned with his knife. “The purse.”

I tossed the bag at him. It didn’t have hardly any money in it, anyway. “Take it.” I held my hands up.

Shorty yanked out my wallet and opened it. “Where the fuck’s the money? Who only has twenty bucks?”

“I don’t have any more. I lost it playing pool.”

“The watch,” Buzzcut demanded again.

I’d taken plenty of self-defense classes in Atlanta, but poor Cassie’s advice sounded in my head. “Outcomes for mugging victims are worse for those who resist, unless you have a weapon.” My pepper spray was at the bottom of my bag, and I’d stupidly thrown that away.

Shorty waved his knife. “And the earrings.”

“The watch,” Buzzcut repeated.

This was going too far. The earrings were my backup fund, the money that could make a difference one day—emergency money I might need to survive on the run. I’d bought them before I left with my grandmother’s advice in mind. “A woman should keep some expensive jewelry with her, just in case.”

Shorty shifted from foot to foot. “The watch and jewelry, bitch.”

“No. You can’t,” I sobbed, touching my earlobe. “These were my mother’s. It’s all I have from her.” I cowered. Hopefully, Shorty had a mother. If not, I had to draw him close enough to grab his wrist before he moved. The lessons came back to me. Surprise was my best weapon.

“Stop stallin’,” Buzzcut growled, looking up and down the street.

I made myself smaller, keeping my eyes on Shorty, the dangerous one of the pair.

He moved closer. “Give me your hand.”

I held it forward a little.

Buzzcut leaned to the side and burped, still holding his beer bottle. Yeah, maybe he’s drunk too.

He closed the distance, holding out his hands, preparing to undo the clasp of my watch.

When Shorty moved within the dangerous slashing distance but not close enough for me to disarm him, I sobbed some more. “Please don’t.”

He unlocked my watch’s clasp.

I made a fist so he wouldn’t be able to slip it off with one hand.

“Give it up, bitch.” He moved his knife hand to help tug on the band.

I struck, grabbing the wrist of his knife hand, twisting it violently down and then behind his back, forcing him to turn to keep me from breaking his arm.

He screamed from the pain as I forced the arm up behind him.

I heard the pop of his shoulder dislocating. The knife dropped to the ground. Buzzcut roared and lunged forward, stumbling.

Oh, no you don’t . Shoving Shorty at the big man, I dodged right.

Shit. It wasn’t enough. Buzzcut caught my wrist.

“Peyton.” The yell came from across the street. It was March. I’d never heard a more welcome sound.

Shorty lay moaning on the concrete. “She broke my fucking arm.”

I failed to wriggle my wrist loose from the big guy. “My boyfriend is going to pound you to dust.”

Buzzcut glanced that way. “No way.”

When he looked toward March, I kicked him, catching him in the shin, and wrenched my arm loose, sending another kick to his gut.

Buzzcut yelled, stumbling backward, clutching my watch.

March ran full speed toward us.

The monster lunged. His fist slammed into my temple, and pain exploded across my face, sending me back into the wall.

My head hit the wall hard. It felt like it might explode.

Then…everything faded to black.

Zane

Peyton? She had to be all right. Fighting back my fear, I raced as fast as I could toward the fight, searching for another gear.

“Bitch.” The monster wound up to hit her again.

I let out my most blood-curdling roar.

Seeing me hurtling toward him, the big guy decided to grab his buddy, and they ran away. I desperately wanted to chase the pair down and beat them to bloody fucking pulps, but Peyton needed me. Peyton was my priority. I knelt beside her.

She was unconscious, but her pulse was strong. She also had a cut on her wrist where her expensive watch had been. I carefully picked her up, supporting her head, and jogged with her back to the bar.

Be okay. Be okay. This was my fault. If only I’d insisted on driving her, or followed her more closely, I could have prevented this.

Peyton’s eyes struggled to open. “What?”

“I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

She struggled against me. “Down… Put me down.”

“No.” I tightened my grip, preparing for the argument. She’d been knocked out. No way was I putting her down and walking away from this.

The argument didn’t come. “They wanted my…” She didn’t finish the sentence before I made it to the bar’s door.

Bursting inside, I yelled, “Call an ambulance.”

Lucas was the first to me. “What happened?”

I set her down gently on a nearby couch. “She got mugged.”

“Let me go,” Peyton complained.

A crowd grew around us.

“Where?” Terry demanded.

“Across and down the street.”

He took off for the door.

I forced her shoulder down. “We need to get you to the ER.”

“No.” Her answer was laced with determination. “I’ll be fine.”

“I called the cops,” Serena said from beside Duke.

“No cops,” Peyton insisted in a loud voice. “It was only twenty bucks.” She sat up and wobbled.

I grasped her arm to support her. “And your watch.” Losing a Rolex to a thief was no small deal.

“It was a knockoff.” Peyton pulled her arm loose. “I’m going home.”

I followed her as she rose and stomped off. “You should go to the hospital and get checked.” Getting your head hit hard enough to knock you out was no small matter.

She threw a middle finger over her shoulder as she reached the door.

“Look after her,” Lucas ordered.

Damned hard-headed woman. I followed her outside. Letting her go alone before was a mistake I didn’t intend to repeat. Lucas’s order was unnecessary.

“You’re coming with me to the ER,” I called after her.

Slightly wobbly, she continued toward her bike. “No thanks.”

“Peyton, it’s not optional for you or me. Lucas ordered me to look after you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” Even if I had to carry her over my shoulder.

She stopped and turned. “Consider yourself relieved of that responsibility. I don’t need looking after.” She added air quotes.

“If you don’t like it, take it up with Lucas.”

“I said no. I’ll be fine.” She made no move to go back inside, clearly not liking her chances of changing Lucas’s mind.

“I won’t do another Tommy Willmont.” I took her wrist. “My problem is that I let Tommy Willmont convince me he didn’t need to see the medic after a piece of concrete fell on his head when a mortar round hit near us.”

She tried to tug free. I didn’t let her. “He didn’t wake up the next day—a brain bleed. And he was wearing a helmet. One way or another, you’re coming with me.”

“You’re a bully.”

“No. I’m selfish. I won’t have your death on my conscience. You can come willingly, or we can do this the hard way. Lucas told me to take care of you, and I damned well will do that.” I hoped tying in Lucas would make her more cooperative.

She planted her feet, resisting me.

“Over the shoulder it is then.” I gave her one second to rethink her position.

She stomped her foot and huffed. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

Had she hid that she was former military? “Where’d you learn to disarm a knife attacker like that?”

“Saw it in a movie, I think.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. “It looked like you hurt him.” Pressing the key fob button, I unlocked the car.

“I dislocated his shoulder.” She looked away. “I think.”

“I used to think you were a nice guy.”

“And I used to think you were sensible and smart, in addition to beautiful.”

Without another word, she walked to the passenger-side door and let herself in. This anger didn’t fit her.

I could maybe understand not bothering with the cops if she hadn’t been robbed or hurt. But both had happened.

Something was wrong about her response to all this—the mugging and now going to the hospital.