No Saint (Wild Men 6)

“Oh really? How sad. What happened, can’t get it up these days?”

“What’s it to you?” I mutter. “Did I ever fuck you? Can’t remember. Guess it wasn’t that memorable.”

“You motherfucker!” He shoves me back, spit flying from his mouth. “Shut up.”

“I don’t think so. What’s your beef with me?”

“You twisted our minds. Turned us into bullies. We never wanted that.”

“Seriously now?” I wipe at my mouth, fighting the urge to laugh in his face. “What, deep inside you’re all saints? That’s why you lay in ambush—to proclaim your innocence?”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah, thanks. What’s up with the girl? Whatcha doing to her?”

“None of your business.”

“You know what? Fine. Peachy. Just let me go and I’ll be on my way.”

I make the mistake to glance her way again and I catch her staring at me, hatred blazing in her pretty big eyes. Her face is pale, hands clenched to her sides, her chestnut curls gathered back in a ponytail.

Luna.

Looney, we used to call her as she passed by in the schoolyard. Looney Tunes, Nutjob Tunes. I said that to her face, didn’t stop my buddies from calling her these and other names, grabbing her backpack, emptying her books out on the floor. Didn’t care. Thought it quite funny. It meant I didn’t have to face what I really thought of her, how I felt. She always sent these weird pangs of longing through me, pangs I didn’t understand.

Still dunno what they meant, but man, she’d been cute then. She’s sexy as fuck now, all curves and soft lips and bright eyes.

“You know her.”

I force my gaze away. “I said I don’t give a shit. Do what you want with her.”

She jerks and spits—at me? At them?—and the guy who’s blocking her curses. He stumbles back, and she shoves past him—but he catches her and drags her back.

A red mist descends over my eyes. Goddamn fuck, I can’t. Can’t leave her with them.

“Let her go,” I say, and without waiting for them to reply or comply, not expecting them to, I set off and barrel into the guy, punch him in the jaw. “You son of a bitch.”

He twists and punches me in the stomach, so that I double over, coughing. My ribs are always bruised to hell these days, and the flare of fire radiating through my chest stops my breath for precious seconds. No time to gather my wits, though, as the other two come on my right, fists cocked. I make myself straighten up to take them on.

Where’s the girl? Is she all right?

Before I can turn around to look, they charge me headfirst, like bulls, faces red with anger, bodies tense with the promise of violence, and here I’m right at home. More at home than with whatever temporary insanity made me stay and fight.

We grapple, fingers digging into flesh, boots kicking at shins, fists plowing into every surface—arms, chests, jaws. Pain flares at every point of impact. One of them, a blond, stumbles and falls under my punch and I kick the other one away from me, vying for a second to catch my breath.

But they fall back, eyeing the one on the ground. Clearly they didn’t expect that to happen. One against three, and all that. What are the odds?

“Motherfucker,” Tony spits a gob of blood on the dusty street and wipes his mouth with his hand.

“Oh yeah, I fucked your mother.” I sneer as I swallow blood. “She’s a fucking bad lay, let me tell ya.”

“You...” He starts toward me again, face purpling with rage, but Ed grabs him, holds him back.

“Come on, Tony. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, Tony, take your cunty friend who’s moaning way too loud off the street and fuck the hell off.” I bare my bloody teeth at them. “Run home to mommy.”

“Oh shut up,” the guy on the ground hisses as he struggles to his feet.