Page 18 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)
He moved faster than his size suggested. One moment blocking the way, the next lunging. Shock froze Kathy for a critical heartbeat. Then instinct screamed: RUN!
She whirled, dress whipping around her legs.
A choked cry escaped her lips. Too slow.
An arm like an iron bar locked around her waist, yanking her off her feet.
A sweaty, calloused palm clamped over her mouth, crushing her lips against her teeth, the taste of stale tobacco and grime flooding her senses.
She kicked wildly, heels scraping his shins, connecting with nothing solid.
Her hands flew up, nails raking desperately for his eyes, clawing at the shadowed flesh beneath the fedora’s brim.
She felt skin tear, heard a guttural curse spat in a language she didn’t know – Italian?
Sicilian dialect? – sharp and vicious. He grunted, tightening his grip, hauling her backwards towards that ominous door.
Panic, cold and absolute, seized her. Outside.
If he gets me outside… Images flashed – dark alley, rough brick, silence swallowing her screams. She redoubled her efforts, bucking, twisting, a wild animal caught in a snare.
But he was stronger, fueled by a cruel purpose, his breath hot and rank on her neck, his tongue flicking at her skin as he chuckled at her terror.
He was winning. The door handle loomed, inches from his reaching hand.
Carmelo.
He’d seen her slip away, seen the unease on her face, and heard the stifled sound that wasn’t just the saxophone’s wail.
What he saw now was a tableau ripped from his deepest nightmares: Kathy, small and fierce, engulfed by a brute, being dragged towards darkness.
The fragile control Carmelo had worn like armor in the Marcello meetingshattered.
He charged them like a bull. A force of nature unleashed. No shout, no warning, it was just a blur of motion. He didn't attack the man; he erased the space between them.
One fist, driven with the piston force of a boxer’s knockout blow, slammed into the side of the attacker’s head.
The sickening crunch of bone meeting bone was audible even over the distant band.
The man’s grip on Kathy vanished instantly.
She dropped, stumbling, gasping, crawling backwards on her hands as her assailant reeled, stunned.
Carmelo didn’t pause. Rage, cold and incinerating, consumed him.
His fists became pistons, hammering into the man’s face, throat, chest – a brutal, rhythmic tattoo of violence.
Left hook to the jaw, snapping his head back.
A right cross splits his lip wide open. Uppercut driving into the solar plexus, forcing a wheezing gasp.
The man crumpled against the wall, sliding down, trying feebly to raise his arms. Carmelo followed him down, kneeling, driving his knuckles into the already ruined face–thud, thud, thud.
The blood sprayed in dark arcs onto the grimy wallpaper, onto Carmelo’s white shirt, onto Kathy’s shoes.
The man’s pleas were gurgling, incoherent bubbles in the mess of his mouth.
The relentless jazz from the main room drowned out the sounds of breaking bones, a grotesque soundtrack.
Kathy stood frozen, not in horror at the violence itself.
She’d seen her father gunned down in the bakery, witnessed the casual cruelties of the South.
It was Carmelo and the violence from him that stopped her heart.
This wasn't the charming boy who promised life could be sweeter. This was a primal fury brought to life. A terrifying avatar of retribution wearing Carmelo’s face.
The sheer, focused brutality of it stole her breath.
As the man lay groaning, a broken, bloody heap who spat crimson onto the floorboards, Carmelo surged to his feet. His chest heaved, his knuckles raw and slick in blood. His eyes, when they found Kathy, weren’t human.
He didn’t comfort her. He grabbed her upper arm, fingers digging in, and shoved her roughly towards the moaning figure on the floor.
"Kick him!" The command was a guttural snarl, ripped from a place beyond reason.
Kathy flinched, stumbling. "What?!" Disbelief warred with the adrenaline screaming through her veins.
"KICK HIM!" Carmelo roared, the sound raw and terrifying in the confined space. He pointed a bloody finger at the man. "NOW!"
Kathy’s gaze snapped down to the attacker.
The fedora was gone, revealing a face pulped and swelling.
One eye was already sealed shut with blood and swelling flesh.
But it was the intent she saw beneath the damage, the predatory malice that had been in his eyes moments before.
The reality slammed into her: He was going to rape me.
He would have done worse. He’s done it before to girls like me.
A coldness, different from fear, settled in her gut. A resolve forged in terror and fury.
She lifted her foot. Not a tentative nudge, but a deliberate, powerful stomp, driving the heel of her shoe straight into the man’s ribs.
A wet, cracking sound. A strangled scream that was more a desperate wheeze.
"AGAIN!" Carmelo’s voice was iron.
Kathy kicked. Harder. Aiming for the same spot.
She felt something give beneath the point of her shoe.
Another agonized gasp. Then, with a surge of pure, furious energy, she drew her leg back and kicked him square in the face.
Her heel connected with his nose with a sickening crunch .
His head snapped back, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
He convulsed once, then lay still except for shallow, ragged breaths.
Carmelo didn’t wait. He seized Kathy’s hand–not gently, but with a fierce, possessive grip–and hauled her towards the back door.
He kicked it open, revealing the stinking, garbage-strewn alley behind the speakeasy.
The sudden rush of cooler, foul air hit Kathy like a physical blow.
She stumbled, doubling over, sobbing, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, her body trembling violently.
Before she could straighten, Carmelo was on her. He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around to face him. He put her up against the wall. The moment he did, the sky exploded, and rain soaked them both. His eyes, still blazing with residual fury, scanned her face, her body, searching for injury.
"Did he hurt you?!" The question was a demand, laced with a terrifying promise of more violence if the answer was yes.
"Yes!" Kathy gasped, the word torn from her, encompassing the violation of the grip, the terror, the taste of his hand. She saw the madness flare again in Carmelo’s eyes – the boxer ready to return to the ring – and instantly she corrected her statement, her voice stronger, "No! I mean… not like that. He didn’t… he didn’t get the chance. "
The tension in Carmelo’s frame eased a fraction, but the intensity didn’t fade. He shook her, not gently. "NEVER, Kathy! Never let a man put his hands on you like that! You fight! You hear me?! SCRATCH, BITE, KICK, GOUGE! YOU FIGHT LIKE HELL!"His voice cracked, raw with a fear deeper than anger.
“I tried, Melo!” she shouted at him in the rain.
“Try harder, damn it! I won’t always be here!
You fight, goddamn it! YOU FIGHT! You kill anyone who tries to hurt you!
YOU ARE HENRY FREEMAN’S DAUGHTER! You’re my fucking girl!
You’re no ones victim! Please Kathy! Promise me!
You’ll fight!” he broke before her. Tears consumed him, the rain washing them down his face.
“I can’t lose you. Ever! I can’t ever let anybody take you from me. I won’t survive it again. I won’t!”
Tears streamed down Kathy’s face, hot and cleansing. She nodded, a sharp, jerky movement. "I promise, Melo. I’ll fight harder. I’ll always fight back. Always," she whispered and kissed his face.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said and held his face.
The ferocity drained from Carmelo’s face, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming vulnerability.
The Wolf inside of him receded, leaving just a man trembling with adrenaline and terror.
He returned her kiss with more passion than she offered.
Pinning her to the wall. The rain meant nothing.
The exposure meant nothing. It was only the deep, unyielding love he felt that held them together.
Her legs went up around his waist. He ripped down his zipper, his tongue delving in and out of her mouth as he forced his cock up into her.
One thrust after another, and he went deeper and deeper.
She clung to him. And let their love explode.
As the passion dimmed, so did the rain to a drizzle, and everything centered on their slowed breathing.
She didn’t even remember why they fought.
She just wanted to stay with him forever.
She pressed her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat, cigar smoke, and the metallic tang of violence.
In that filthy alley, amidst the reek of garbage and the fading echoes of terror, they clung to each other not just as lovers, but as soldiers binding wounds after a skirmish in an endless, brutal war.