Brutal Kiss

I get out my phone and order an Uber, thinking I can circle the block until it arrives. As I look up and think about turning right, one of those shadows appears at my elbow.

He grabs my sleeve and yanks me toward him. I gasp in surprise. It’s a big man, black beard, dark eyes, scowl on his scarred face. A jagged white line of torn flesh runs from beneath his right eye to just above his lips. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand clamps down over it, a hand that tastes like sweat and fast food grease, as he grabs me tighter and yanks me into the shadows of a quiet courtyard ringed with tall, manicured bushes, into the relative quiet and privacy they afford.

“You’ve been a hard fish to catch,” the man says, his breath hot on my neck. I expect an accent, but he sounds like any other American. Another guy appears, this one heavier, with a double chin and a malicious grin. He’s wearing dark jeans and a button-down and looks like an average suburban tourist out for a late evening stroll.

“Should be a good spot right here,” the big guy says, looking around. We’re alone, blocked from the street by the shrubbery.

I’m dragged through the bushes and thrown down onto concrete. I gasp as I hit hard and feel a knee jam into my back, holding me down as the bastard puts all his weight on me. I struggle to breathe as I take in my surroundings.

We’re in a small courtyard in front of the office building. The entrance is dead and quiet, darkened this late. There are some streetlights, but several more are broken and dim. The bushes provide cover from the street, and a few benches are scattered around.

There are no people. No witnesses. Nobody to help.

I open my mouth to scream, but I can barely breathe. The guy on my back grabs my hair and yanks my head back sharply, and I release a pained groan as it feels like he might rip it out by the roots. I don’t have enough air to make a sound, and my lungs begin to burn as the desperate need to breathe grows more and more intense. I want to thrash, want to do anything, but black spots begin to curl around the edges of my vision.

I’m going to die.

“Do it fast,” the big guy says from somewhere to my left, sounding nervous. “Cut her throat and be done with it. Send a message to those Irish fucks.”

Cut my throat? The words are garbled in my head. He can’t be serious, can he? This guy wants to cut my throat, right here in the middle of Center City? But we’re alone, blocked by the bushes, and nobody’s coming to my rescue. My guard’s missing, and Rian’s off for the night, which means I’m really going to meet my end right here and now.

That sends a jolt of adrenaline into my system.

I struggle hard. I release a yowl, catlike, pained and terrified. The guy slams my face forward into the concrete, and my scream turns into a moan as lights flash into my vision, but at least I got some air in my lungs. The guy on my back curses, and I feel something sharp and cold against my neck, and I know that breath didn’t matter. He’s going to cut my throat open right here, and I’ll bleed out onto the concrete, alone and frightened, and there’s nothing I can do.

“You can thank your fucking father for this,” the guy whispers in my ear.

Then there’s a grunt. A pained and surprised grunt. Then another, louder this time, plus a massive thud of something hard bashing into something soft. The pressure on my back releases, and the knife at my throat vanishes, and I roll away, coughing and gagging, scrambling to my knees.

Rian slams a short black pipe into the side of my captor’s face. The man releases a stifled moan, and Rian does it again and again. The man drops to the ground, his knees like jelly. The knife clatters from his hand. Rian hits him again and again until the man stops moving and blood oozes from a cracked and pulverized skull. The big man’s trying to crawl away, and Rian’s splattered with blood and breathing hard, but he doesn’t let the bastard escape.

He walks over and stomps on the guy’s neck. He does it once, twice, then uses the pipe to finish the job. The big man goes still, and more blood seeps into the cracks between the concrete slabs.

It happened so fast. One second, I’m lying there waiting to die, and the next Rian’s just torn through those two assholes like they were nothing.

Rian turns to me. He’s sweating, eyes wild, face streaked with blood. He comes to me, and I back away, terrified. He doesn’t look human, and I’m afraid of what he might do right now. All those awful things I said come rushing back, and there’s a sick part of me that wishes he’d just let the Turkish thugs slice my throat.