Page 24 of Not So Goode

I blinked. Looked around—I’d left six bloody messes. “These shitstains need doctors,” I snarled.

The guy glanced past me at the girl huddled on the ground, arms around her waist, fighting the urge to be sick while sobbing. “We got them, you get her.”

I nodded, and turned away. Adrenaline was pulsing through me so hard my hands were shaking.

She was gagging, and sobbing. I crouched off to one side, close but out of spew range, and out of scare-her-worse range.

I kept my voice low, calm, like I’d talk to one of River Dog’s skittish old half-wild Appaloosas. “Hey, now, darlin’. You’re alright. Safe now, okay? Ain’t nobody gonna touch you.”

She stared, tear-stained eyes the same wild blue of the Mediterranean fixing blearily on me—scared stupid, seeing too many of me, trying to figure out what was going on. “They—they—“

“They ain’t gonna bother you no more.” I glanced over my shoulder, watched the security guys dragging the fuckers two at a time toward the woods. “Or anyone else, I suspect.”

She saw that, frowned. “Where’re they takin’em?” Slurred to hell, but a faint Boston accent.

“There’s a med tent on the other side of the woods.”

She eyed me. “You—” A blink, focused on not upchucking. “You did that.”

“You’re safe.”

She shook her head. “Not safe.”

“I got you. Won’t let nothin’ happen.”

She closed her eyes, frowning. “God, I’m—I’m so…”

“Hammered.”

A nod. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Not your usual scene?” I guessed.

She shook her head, which was a mistake. A long black braid snaked in an S-wave at her back—a complicated braid, and a whole hell of a lot of thick black hair. Those sea-blue eyes met mine again. Tear-stained, but drying. Firming up.

“Don’t know where the hell I am.” She tried to move, to stand up, but tipped over.

I caught her, and she was soft and light in my arms. “Why don’t you just relax, all right, darlin’?”

Her eyes fluttered, unfocused, then she refocused on me, irritated through the inebriation. “Don’t…don’t call me darling.”

I just laughed. “Whatever’s clever, babe.” I stood up with her long bare legs draped over one arm, and that thick black herringbone braid slung over her shoulder as she lolled her head against the crook of my elbow.

“Where’reyoutakingme?” she mumbled, slurring so bad it was nearly incomprehensible.

“Backstage.”

She blinked her eyes open. “Lexie.” Tried to sit up. “Lexie!”

I held her. “Whoa, now, darlin’, just relax. I got you. Let me get you somewhere you can sit and sober up, okay? You’re safe. I’ve got you. Nothin’ gonna happen to you when I’m around.”

“Sister,” she whispered. Head lolled against my chest. “Lexie. Sister. Need Lexie.”

She sniffed. Blinked. Realized her cheek was against skin; all I had on was my leather cut—my old, worn, AzTex MC vest adorned with the patch and other assorted pins and patches—unbuttoned over my bare chest, as it was a hot day and it was the way I felt most comfortable.

“Big chest,” she murmured. “You’re hard and soft at th’same time. It’s weird.” She blinked up at me, and fuck, those eyes could smolder and burn like fire and ice, blue and blue and blue and searing, even drunk off her ass. “Hi.”

I laughed. “Hi there, hot stuff. What’s your name?”