8
Sky
I gasp as the two uniformed officers rush the drunk, the man going from muttering menace to enraged bear in the space of a heartbeat. Twisting to face the oncoming cops, Charlie gets into a defensive crouch, the weapon in his hand a murderous extension of the alcohol in his gaze. My chest tightens, the absolute certainty that people are about to get hurt filling my veins.
Before Charlie’s knuckles can connect with the heads of the uniformed cops rushing at him, Cullen moves in, sliding like a predator across the floor. Blading his body between Charlie and the cops, Cullen blocks the punch midswing, the muscles beneath his blue Under Armour shifting like water.
Charlie stops. Turns. Roars.
Around the bar, the patrons and even cops hold a collective breath as the full force of the madman’s fury zeroes in on the lone medic. On Cullen.
Cullen holds an open palm toward the man. “Take a breath, man. Nice and—”
Charlie kicks at Cullen’s knee, his boot intent on shattering the kneecap.
Cullen twists, taking the shot on his thigh. He grunts in pain, but doesn’t strike back.
My heart pounds, the many ways this could end racing through my mind in flashes of blood. Pulling myself together, I slip over to the injured bartender, Ileene, and help the woman into a chair.
“No!” Ileene shouts, suddenly looking at something over my shoulder. I twist around in time to see one of the officers unsnapping the retainer on his gun. My stomach clenches. Bile rises farther up my throat as Cullen jerks at the sound of a weapon leaving its holster and—instead of getting the hell out of the way—puts himself into the damn line of fire.
Charlie swings. Again. Again.
Dancing on the balls of his feet, Cullen parries the blows as recklessly as they come. His face is emotionless. Utterly unreadable. Right up until the moment that Charlie’s ham-sized fist flies directly at Cullen’s temple, and his jaw flexes with grim triumph.
Ducking smoothly under the swing, Cullen uses Charlie’s own momentum to twist his arm behind his back. In the next breath, Cullen slams the man’s chest into the wall hard enough to crack ribs.
Holy fucking shit.
Pouring in around Cullen, the cops slam cuffs around Charlie’s wrists and lead the bastard away.
Relief washes over me so forcefully that my body sways, a pair of strong hands steadying me from behind. I know it’s Cullen from the musky scent filling my lungs, the heat of his body blazing like a furnace through my blouse. I turn to him, barely suppressing the urge to take a swing at the bastard myself. “Do you have a death wish, Cullen?” I demand. “What if—” I don’t bother finishing. There are too many what-ifs to list, and they all end with him getting hurt.
“You shouldn’t have called the police, Phil.” Ileene’s eyes are red rimmed as she stares after the still-swinging door through which the police just walked Charlie out. “Go tell the police I’m not pressing charges. It was an accident. I’ve known Charlie since first grade, and he would never hurt me on purpose.”
“It looks like he did hurt you today,” I tell Ileene gently, glancing at Cullen for support.
Instead of speaking, Cullen just takes the woman’s chin in his hand to examine the gash on her cheek, his face as expressive as stone.
“You don’t understand,” Ileene insists. “Charlie’s wife called—he’d run out of his meds. They’re getting more as soon as they can. It was—”
“Ileene.” I meet the bartender’s eyes, which are large and blue and miserable. My heart aches. I’ve been here before, making explanations. For my father. For Jaden. “There’s no excuse for hurting someone. None at all. If you let him get away with this, who is he going to take a swing at next? His wife? A chi— You shouldn’t have to make excuses for him. There are places you can—”
“Reynolds.” Cullen interrupts me midsentence, as if I were chatting about a cake recipe and not trying to make someone’s life a safer one to live. “Call the ER. Make sure they know Charlie and Ileene are on their way.”
I stare at him incredulously. Seriously? He wants me to go make calls on minor trauma now, when I’m building Ileene up to do the right thing?
Cullen’s eyes meet mine, the flash of command in them leaving no room for misinterpretation. Stepping away to make the call while still keeping an eye on Ileene, I dial the ER—who puts me on hold the moment they hear their incoming patient has a pulse and an airway.
“No hospital,” Ileene says. “I’m a single mom and don’t have any insurance. I’m not badly off, truly. And Charlie isn’t usually like this. Your assistant needn’t worry.”
“My assistant needs to keep her opinions to herself.” Cullen’s voice is meant to carry to me before it lowers a notch. “As for the hospital, I’ll make sure you won’t be charged. I’ll have someone help you apply for benefits as well. Trident Rescue has connections to get it done.”
“Trident Rescue? Isn’t that the outfit of the four Trident gods—” Ileene cuts off, her eyes widening as she blinks from the insignia on Cullen’s shirt to his face, something very much like gears clicking into place behind her intelligent gaze. “You’re Cullen Hunt, aren’t you?”
“Yes to the latter part, not so much on the divinity.” Cullen’s large hands deftly open packets of gauze to press against Ileene’s cheek. “But I am used to getting my way. You’ll let me take you to the ER, yes?”
Having bullied a reluctant but grateful Ileene into a trip to the hospital, Cullen insists on driving me to my car despite me offering to drive the mammoth Suburban back to the station myself. Neither of us speaks, the tense silence between us thickening the air. The scene from the pub keeps replaying in my head, hitting from different angles. Ileene, bloody and making excuses. Charlie, wild and assaulting the police. Cullen turning into a deadly predator, designed and honed for violence. For killing.
For the first time since coming to Denton Valley, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake in choosing this town. My hands tighten around the armrests, my knuckles white.
Cullen’s gaze slips from the road to my hands, then back to traffic. “You’re safe, Reynolds.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I snap more harshly than I intend. I’m not good at lying. I swallow. “What will happen to the asshole who attacked Ileene and the cops?”
A muscle along Cullen’s jaw twitches. “The police took Charlie into custody.” His words are curt. Emotionless.
“I hope Ileene presses charges.”
No response. As if I didn’t just state the obvious. Fine. I can do nothing about the asshole in custody, but I can certainly deal with the one sitting right beside me.
“Why did you interrupt me in the middle of encouraging Ileene to talk to the police?” I demand. “It was almost as if you wanted Charlie to get off scot-free for what he did.”
Cullen’s eyes stay on the road. “Don’t try to get inside my mind, Reynolds. You won’t like what’s there.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Wait. A new, horrible thought occurs to me. “Is that why you gave her free medical care? So that she sweeps what happened under a rock? Did your free X-rays come with a gag order attached?”