“You can’t just come into my bar and harass my customers,” I argued with Cain, stirring the pot a little.
This time, he looked straight at me. “Harass your customers? Rose, he fucking slipped something into your drink! This is the jackass going around spiking drinks and raping women, and he set his sights onyou. No one fucks with my woman and gets to live. So either walk away now, or watch me do something that you’ll never be able tounsee.”
“You’re insufferable,” I half-laughed, half-goaded. He looked away, refocusing on roofie-guy. “I watched him spike my drink, and Ridgewood’s finest are already on their way to deal with him. No need to further tarnish my already corroded image of you, Cainy-boo.”
“Stop fucking looking at her, you sick fuck. You look at me,” Cain growled at the guy, then adjusted his hold, causing me to jump in surprise when he swiftly jabbed the guy in the stomach with a weighted punch. He tried to double over from the pain, but the arm practically strangling him kept him upright.
“C’mon man,” Roofie-rapist wheezed. “She…looks like she's…down for two dicks… I’m not…a…selfish man…you go first.”
He’d barely finished the sentence when, in one blindingly fast motion, Cain slammed his body to the ground. His head hit the asphalt with a sickening crack, and Cain shuffled on top of him and issued blow after blow, landing against the guy's face every time.
My jaw slacked with mild surprise as I watched Cain unleash his rage. Not that I’d ever admit it to him, but it was sexy as hell to see him tear this guy apart—not just because he roofied my drink, but for all the other women he’d hurt.
Closing the distance, I moved toward them until the toe of my heel was close enough to push into the man's face, which I would have done if Cain hadn’t been relentlessly beating this guy to a pulp.
“Alright, stop,” I commanded, directing my attention at Cain. “You may have forgotten I’m a bad bitch, but I sure as hell haven’t, so move, Cain. You don’t get to have all the fun. I want to see his eyes bulge as I step on his trachea with my eight hundred dollar heel and watch him squirm until the cops get here.”
Though my lips were moving and words were coming out, my demand was completely ignored as he continued to punch the man relentlessly. “Cain, seriously, take it easy.”
Blood began pouring from the guy, his face transforming with every punch. Still, Cain ignored me and kept going.
Groaning, I placed my hands on my hips, doing the only thing I could do: watch.
Every hit made me cringe, the sight becoming more gruesome by the second. My stomach rolled, and I knew this would haunt me, but I couldn't look away.
“Rosie! What’s going on?” Sly’s voice carried as he jogged around the corner to where we were. “Is this him?”
His eyes flicked from the man to Cain’s fist, as it landed forcefully against his nose. The cracking of bones filled the air and blood went flying. Even then, Cain didn’t stop. The amount of blood pooling from this man’s face created a metallic scent in the air and made me feel a little queasy.
The guy wasn’t fighting him or even moving—far past the point of consciousness. For a moment, a fleeting concern of whether this was the right course of action drifted into my mind, but it was gone a second later. Tears pricked my eyes, conflicting emotions rolling through me as I continued to watch.
There was blood everywhere, the man’s face so battered he was nearing the point of being unrecognizable. But it was sickly satisfying, and that alone made me feel like a terrible person.
“Brother,” Sly called to Cain, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.
There’s no way this guy was still alive.
Reaching up, I rubbed my temples. My heart was racing a little faster the more Cain rained punches down on the guy. “He’s not listening, Sly. I already tried.”
“Cain,” Sly tried again, but the sound of fist connecting with bone just kept radiating through the space. He advanced toward Cain, catching his elbow before he could land another punch. “Brother, stop.”
He shook Sly off his arm and continued his assault.
“Fermare,”Sly yelled, and whether it be the foreign language or the tone in which Sly said it, it seemed to catch Cain’s attention. His fist stopped midair, and he turned to look at us, chest heaving.
Blood dripped from his closed fist and landed on the man’s cheek. Cain looked wild, his eyes dark, face glistening with a layer of sweat. His stare penetrated through my soul, speaking through a simple look, rather than with words.
I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.
I’d never let anyone hurt you.
He’ll never hurt anyone again.
I love you.
Or at least that's what it seemed like was happening. My heart seized within my chest, the stupid thing sputtering and beating far faster than it should have been after just witnessing Cain go feral with rage.
Without a word, Sly came to a low squat and reached two fingers to the pulse point on the man’s neck. “Dead,” he stated simply, and stood.
