"Why you lying for him?"
"I'm not."
He stalks toward me and his hands land on my shoulders. Thick fingers dig into my skin. Pain shoots down my back as it hits the wall of the firehouse.
"Rocco, please." Holy shoot. How did I get myself in this one? This guy is crazed.
Puffs of stinky air from his breath hit me in the face. "How did a nut bag like him get a sister as pretty as you?"
My hands press against his chest, but he smiles. He mistakes my fear for pleasure.
Okay. I need a plan. Stay calm. Surely someone will come out of the abandoned firehouse soon.
Nope. I hear cheering. They're starting another fight. No one is coming out here. Shoot. Darn. My plan is to wiggle out of his clutches and run. I'm fast. He won't catch me even if I'm wearing a pair of three-inch heeled boots. If Foster can work his way out of Cicero's hold, I can get away from an asshole rich boy.
"Let me go."
He smashes his lips to mine. I try to pull back but he has me pinned and my head smacks against the wall. He rips my blouse, exposing my bra. "You pay his debt."
"No."
He grabs my boob and kisses me again. He must feel my heart exploding in my chest.
Help. Someone please help.
He tries to open my pants, but thank God I wore jeans and I'm able to move my hips enough to make it impossible for him to get the zipper down.
"You playing me, Milana? Saying no? I hear you fuck Donnie's friends when he gets in a jam."
What? Is that what people say about me? "Stop." I'm pounding his shoulders like I just saw Foster do, but he's bulky and hard. My punches bounce off him like rubber.
He's not listening to me and he's not going to stop. He's determined to take his revenge out on Donnie's sister. I fight his hand at my jeans, but he manages to work them open. I widen my stance and twist my hips so he can't get them down. There's no way I'm letting this guy rape me.
I lean my head back and scream. "Help!"
A rough hand over my mouth muffles my cries.
Urgent footsteps run toward us, and the pressure of Rocco's filthy hand on my mouth disappears. The sound of fists cutting through air and connecting with flesh hits my ears.
A tall guy wearing boots, jeans, and a black denim jacket is fighting Rocco.
They rotate and Foster's face moves into the light.
Foster.
He's here. He's fighting off Rocco for me.
Relief floods me and I can breathe again.
The Unstoppable Foster Dunham is here.
Rocco takes a hard one to the face, and his eyes flash like he just realized who he's fighting.
He ducks and runs. Foster takes three steps toward him and stops. He looks back at me. He has a Band-Aid over his eye and the blood is gone from his face. His hair shines like it's wet. He's stunning with his chest heaving, his brow furrowed, in attack mode like he was inside. He looks back to where Rocco ran, relaxes his shoulders, and walks back toward me.
"I'll get him later," he mumbles to himself. When he's closer to me, he asks, "You all right?"
"I think so."
He frowns as he watches me pull my blouse over my bra and struggle with my pants. "He hurt you?"
"No. You stopped him before he could."
He nods but his eyes are flaming, his nostrils flared.
"Where's that guy you were with?" he asks, his voice rough with anger as he looks up and down the street.
"My brother? He took off when he saw Rocco."
"And left you alone with him? What kind of guy does that?"
After my clothes are fixed, I cross my arms over my chest and hug myself. "He's my brother."
"You're brother is fucking stupid as hell."
I can't argue with that. I love Donnie but he makes bad decisions sometimes. Lots of times.
Foster's eyes look me over and his anger shifts to concern. "You're trembling."
"I am?"
Looking down, I see he's right. I'm shaking like it's cold, but it's definitely hot and muggy tonight.
Then the man who was just in two savage fights raises his arm and invites me to step in for a consoling hug.
I lean forward and take a step closer to him, subtly indicating it would be okay for him to hug me. When my head touches his torso, his arms encircle me in a warm cage. His chest is a flat, hard plane and he smells like soap and denim. He squeezes me subtly and his chin rests on the top of my head.
"If I didn't hear you call for help…" His voice rasps like he cares about me. I'm shocked to see the cold-hearted fighter I saw up on the stage showing such overwhelming compassion for a total stranger.
"Let's not talk about what could've happened." Rocco seemed determined to take it all the way, and I doubt I could have fought him off.
"I'll take you home." The low rumble of his voice brushes my hair.
I break the hug. Even though I like being close to him, it feels indulgent and too intimate. Fate placed him here at the exact moment I needed someone, but stealing the chance to remain in the arms of the Unstoppable Foster Dunham feels like a crime. "I can call a taxi."
"No. I'll take you home." His hand rubs behind his neck and his chin tilts down, sparkling eyes still on me.
"I'm staying in the Hamptons right now for summer vacation." It's over an hour away.
"Then I'll take you to the Hamptons."
"I don't want to detour you like that. You need to tend to your face, put some ice on the swelling." His eye and cheek have gotten worse while we've been talking.
"That guy almost raped you. He had you half naked in the street. And you're worried about some bruises on my face?" His eyes darken and focus on me, looking impatient. "I'll take you to the Hamptons."
"Really not necessary."
He grabs my hand and drags me around the side of the building where a black motorcycle is parked. The helmet he hands me is heavy like a bowling ball. "Put this on."
"Uh. I've never ridden on a motorcycle."
The bandage on his eye goes up with his eyebrow lift. "I've never had a girl on the back of my bike before."
"Oh."
In one glorious movement, he shrugs off his denim jacket, slides it down his arms, and holds it out to me. "Wear this."
He sounds unshakable, so I push the much-too-large helmet on my head. I take the jacket from him and slip it over my shoulders. It's warm and smells so good I could live in this jacket. I hold the collar up to my nose and take a sniff. He watches me and grins. He keeps smiling as he buckles the helmet straps tighter under my chin.
He throws a leg over and brings the bike up level. He stares forward like he's sure I'm getting on behind him.
Aww, who am I kidding? Of course I'm getting on.
I lift my leg and cautiously slide in behind him, keeping distance between our bodies. He peers over his shoulder at me, waiting for me to settle in deeper. With his hands on the handlebars, the arch of his shoulders seems endless, and I'm staring at an old rock tee shirt. I'm not even sure who it is, but it's worn thin and barely hides the muscles in his back.
In order to lift my feet, I'll have to hold onto him or I'll fall off. I slip my hands around his waist and lock them in the front by his navel. He doesn't stop looking back until I lean forward and press my body to his back. He closes his eyes and his head bows down. His chest expands with a sigh, he raises his head, and starts the engine.