Page 20 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Holt

As far as muggings go, this one was handled poorly, and I should have seen it coming a mile away.

But I was too distracted walking up the hill behind Chloe, watching her tan legs peeking out under her skirt, and listening to her laughter-filled conversation with Emilia and Rachelle.

Something had shifted between us in that little chapel, and for the first time in a long time I had hope that maybe, just maybe, I could have her back in my life.

So when the pack of four older teen boys shoots out from between two shacks, I'm slow to react.

The first thing I process is that the women are surrounded and there's a lot of shouting.

The second thing is fear which is quickly swallowed up in rage.

Cesar, who obviously hasn't been in his head over how attractive his ex-girlfriend is, is quicker to react.

He lunges toward the women, anger making him look entirely different from the happy-go-lucky guy I've spent the past couple of weeks with.

He pushes into the circle, standing in front of the women, the buttons on his blue dress shirt stretching as he puffs out his chest.

Spanish flies everywhere, words coming so quickly even I'm having a hard time keeping up.

The women are being jostled, and Emilia is scolding the boys, slapping their hands when they reach out, like she's their angry mother.

Even though Emilia manages to connect a few times, these boys don't react to her at all.

They keep grabbing at Chloe and Rachelle – their American targets.

I can't believe these guys, going after two women who have three others with them? This is a crime of opportunity and thoughtlessness, and that makes me even more angry.

Chloe has her hands up in the air when I get into the circle myself.

She's trying to show them she has nothing as she dodges their grabs.

She didn't bring a purse to church, which makes me oddly proud of her, and her dress probably doesn't have pockets.

One shoulder of the dress has started to slip as she ducks, and she doesn't bother to tug it back into place.

Rachelle, on the other hand, does have a small clutch and she's hugging it against her chest while she screams at the boys to leave her alone.

I jump in front of Rachelle just as two of the boys manage to grab a handful of the women's dresses, and as I'm pushing to separate the young thieves from their victims, Chloe and Rachelle are yanked along too.

Emilia stumbles a bit, but manages to punch away the hand of the thug holding onto her and regain her footing at the same time that I take a fist to the eye.

The contact hurts and my head flies sideways, my arms shooting up to protect my face from further hits.

Chloe and Rachelle get shoved to the ground as I regain my equilibrium.

Chloe cries out, and I'm sure she'll have a nice bit of road rash when this is all over.

Rachelle's longer skirt protects her knees, but her shirt tears, baring a shoulder when she lands next to Chloe.

The sight of her friend's skin enrages Chloe, who jerks free of the hold on her and stumbles back to her feet, yelling at the men to back off as she places both her palms against one of them and shoves with all her might.

I'm grappling with one of the guys, and Cesar is doing the same with another, but Chloe and Rachelle can't seem to make headway before three more gamberros flow into the pathway.

It's now seven to five, and the whole scene is so chaotic that it takes me a minute to understand what's happening when I see a flash of silver, then two flashes of silver. The second I realize what it is I yell "stop" as loud as I can. First in Spanish, then in English.

"Knife," I cry, hoping like crazy that the women hear me and stop fighting before they get hurt.

The only guarantee in a knife fight is that you will get cut, and that has me breathing harder than the fighting did.

We're no longer in a circle, but spread out haphazardly in the alleyway, with the would-be robbers spread out between us.

Cesar holds up his hands and backs away from the kid he'd been wrestling.

He makes sure to back toward the women and I'm grateful we're on the same page.

I do the same, holding my hands up, my chest heaving.

The women are all on their feet, and they follow suit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture, as everyone slowly shifts around until our group is once again together with the teens facing us.

Rachelle is still holding that ridiculous little clutch and I'm honestly impressed with the fact she's held on to it. She's got some fight in her.

The five of us form a tight circle, watching as the growing crowd of teens spreads out to face us in a semicircle.

By my count, two more have joined, and our odds are getting worse.

My eye is throbbing, and I want to know if others are hurt, but I'm afraid to take my eyes off the boys in front of us.

"Rachelle, what's in your clutch?" I ask her, heart pounding. A scratch on my cheek begins to sting, but I ignore it.

"My driver's license and some credit cards," she replies. I can see her trembling, but her voice doesn't give away her fear .

"Your passport?" I ask.

"In the safe at Lifting Hope," she says.

I nod. "Give them your clutch."

"But . . ."

"You can replace your license, you can call and turn off your cards," I state as calmly as I can.

"What about fraud? They could steal my identity," she argues.

"Or, they could steal your face with that knife," Emilia hisses before jumping into a violent stream of Spanish I'm not going to translate. Her young face looks feral when I dare to glance her way, as though she cannot believe the stupidity of these boys.

Chloe's eyes are big and she's breathing heavily too as she looks around the scene.

Her clothing is disheveled, and I can tell she's both shocked and angry.

So am I. I want her out of harm's way far more than I care about Rachelle's possible banking or identity issues.

It's hard to think straight when she's in a dangerous predicament.

Chloe is assessing the situation, while Emilia is still cursing out the young men under her breath with Spanish words that would make my Uncle Luis blush.

The guys watch her, and eye me and Cesar, waiting for what, I'm not sure.

I just know two of them have knives and we're lucky for this momentary stalemate.

I speak to them in Spanish, telling them we have nothing, that we've just come from church and we're humanitarian volunteers.

A couple of them share looks, and I wonder if they've been served by Lifting Hope, or maybe feel bad picking on religious people.

I start to hope that they'll walk away. Maybe this can be one of those stories we laugh about later.

But suddenly Emilia lunges for one of them.

She's taken off her shoe and tries to whack him, and it would be hysterical if he wasn't one of the knife-holding ones.

Chloe sees him lift the knife toward Emilia – probably in defense to be fair – and in a stupidly selfless act she lunges out to protect Emilia.

My brave, fierce, protective woman.

I'm diving after her before I even think to do so, my body reacting on instinct, and her cry when the knife slices across her forearm has me seeing red.

The blood that starts dripping down toward her hand causes everyone to freeze, and I honestly believe that even the thugs are shocked it's gotten this far.

But their surprise and hesitation don't stop me from losing my mind.

Cesar, Rachelle, and Emilia are equally livid, and it's an all-out war while Chloe stares at her arm like she can't believe it's happening.

She's the calm in the center of a tornado.

This has turned into a full-on schoolyard brawl, with a bunch of untested fighters flailing our arms and legs, yelling and screaming, and no one really making any progress.

I get hit as many times as I make contact myself, and I worry that the others are taking hits too.

My main focus, though, is getting those knives out of play.

Thankfully I manage to wrestle one of the knives away and throw it as hard as I can, but I don't know where the other knife is and I'm worried someone else will be hurt.

Like Chloe was.

"Chloe?" I call out, unable to take my eyes off the guys that are kicking at my legs, but needing to know if she's okay. "Are you okay?"

"I'm all right," she calls back, but her tone tells me she's not really okay, and I bare my teeth as I punch and kick my way to freedom.

Fights and muggings are common enough here that I don't expect anyone to come out of their home and get involved, so I'm surprised when a group of older men come jogging around the corner.

At first I'm terrified that these older men are the gang leaders, but it's quickly obvious they're here to scare off the thugs.

Their words are loud and firm, and it's all over in a matter of minutes.

I watch the teens jog up the hill and around a corner, out of sight.

I'm darkly satisfied to see that a few of them have torn shirts and bloody lips, just like we do.

Our rescuers don't say much other than acknowledging that they've been helped by Lifting Hope in the past and will make sure we're not bothered again. Then, they float away too, leaving us alone.

It takes our group a few heartbeats to put our arms down and look to one another, trusting that it's over. Our chests heave, our expressions are varying shades of shocked and angry. My eyes skate around our group as I bend at the waist, attempting to clear the adrenaline fog from my mind.

Rachelle's hair is all over the place, her clutch is still held close to her chest and I can see some scratches on her arms. Her shirt is torn at the shoulder, but she seems to be alright overall.