Not two minutes after stepping outside of the restaurant does a skinny, stringy-haired boy approach me with an ugly frown across his face. The kind that looks permanently etched there. I know immediately who it is. The damn bum made it here in record time.

"Are you that Sloan bitch?"

There he goes again with the name calling. And does this creeper have a tracker on my sister's phone? How did he know where to find us so quickly?

I stare at him quizzically. Trying to figure out what my sister sees in this ameba. I don't get it.

"That's me."

"You had a lot of shit to say on the phone a few minutes ago. Why don't you say it now that I'm here?"

"If you need me to repeat myself, I have no problem with that," I say in the most condescending voice I can muster. "Give my sister her money back, because she did not give it to you, she lent it to you. And especially because it wasn't even her money to lend."

"How about this is none of your business. Dawn can fight her own battles."

"So, you're admitting that this has become a battle. You're admitting that you're not going to willingly pay back the money you owe her?"

"If or when I pay her back has nothing to do with you. So I'm warning you for the last time to stay out of it."

He finishes his cautionary statement with an air of finality then sticks his greasy forehead to the restaurant's large glass pane window. I assume to look for my sister but primarily to dismiss me.

"Or what?" I ask bravely or stupidly depending on how you want to look at the situation.

He turns back around, surprised and apparently irritated that I've challenged him. It's obvious that he has a problem with women. A major one. Maybe his mother didn't hold him enough when he was a baby or something, because I see nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.

"What did you say?"

"I said or what," I repeat not backing down. "What exactly are you going to do if I don't stay out of it?"

"This, bitch."

The only time I've ever been hit in the face was in the middle of an underground game of fifth grade recess dodgeball. We weren't supposed to be playing dodgeball at all, according to the new school "acceptable game play" rules. But a group of the school's fifth grade renegades didn't like to follow rules (myself included), and unfortunately, I paid the price.

Little Joey McFallon was doing his best to get out of the way of the ball and accidentally elbowed me in the eye. Hard. I thought I saw a few stars then, but my sister's deadbeat boyfriend punching me in the eye–hurts ten times worse.

"Ouchhhh!!!"

I hate the feel of Philadelphia concrete.

Especially when it's against the side of my face.

Cold. Bumpy. Hard. Unforgiving.

I can hear the devil spawn's laughter bouncing around in the air above my head. Apparently proud of what he's done.

"Told you to mind your business."

I know that I've got to get up, even though I'd rather stay curled up in a ball on the ground. When he hit me, I didn't just fall down–I slid. So the part of my face that skidded against the sidewalk feels like it's been ripped to shreds. Everything hurts. I don't want to move. But this guy is a maniac, and I can't let him anywhere near my sister again. So I keep trying to move. To get up. It's difficult though, because not only is my face on fire, but one side of my hip is bruised. I must have hurt it on impact.

Then the laughing suddenly stops.

And I hear three rapid sounds.

Bap. Bap. Bap.

They sound like kicks or jabs into a person's stomach or chest. I'm not quite sure which. Definitely something squishy. Then Damien drops to the ground next to me. His face close to mine. His arms around his middle. His eyes rolling up inside of his head.

What on earth?

I try getting up off the ground one more time. Disoriented. Not really sure what's going on with me or around me. Every hair on the back of the neck leaps to attention.

"Don't move, princess."

Holy. Hell.

I know that voice.

Cutter effin' King gently slides his hands and forearms underneath my body. Effortlessly lifting me up and curling my body into his. When the side of my face accidentally rubs against his jacket I wince in pain. It feels like a cheese grater shredded my face, but it smells divine. Like leather and musk.

"You have the worst fucking taste in men," he practically growls.

Anger rolling off of him in waves.

"He's my sister's boyfriend," I try explaining. Then I panic. "Wait, my sister. I've got to get to her. She's still in there."

"Taking you to get patched up, princess."

"But my sister–"

Damien is still on the ground, grimacing in pain, but coherent enough.

"You better watch your back, bitch," he threatens me followed by a small groan.

Still firmly holding me, Cutter looks down at him and offers a few menacing words.

"Stay away from this woman and her sister. You touch them, you talk to them, and I'll be back. And trust me, it'll be ten times worse. You feel me?"

Damien doesn't respond. I'm not sure that he can. I'm not even sure if he should. Cutter kicks him once again in the ribs and this time Damien responds with a yelp. Watching the jerk grimace in pain gives me mixed feelings of both glee and guilt. It's the strangest dichotomy.

"Answer me, dickhead. I said do you feel me?"

"Yesss," he hisses but looks right at me with the deadest eyes I've ever seen.

A chill runs down my spine.

Cutter turns back to me and asks, "We good now?"

"No, I told you my little sister is in there. Would you just leave if it were your brother inside?"

I may not know everything about the King brothers, but from what I've been told, they would probably kill for each other. He has to understand that I can't just leave Dawn inside while this maniac is still out here.

"Fine," he says after sucking his teeth.

"She's only seventeen," I add for good measure.

"Understood. Let's get her and go."

Now that the adrenaline rush I felt earlier is starting to subside, I notice that Cutter's normally beautiful face is a frightening sight. I'm not sure why, but one side of it is completely covered in blood. He looks absolutely lethal.

"Your face," I say. "Did he hurt you?"

"Don't insult me, princess. That piece of shit didn't touch me. This here is something else."

"You should go to the hospital," I say. "That looks really bad."

"Nah, babe, you should see the other guy."

He attempts to make light of his injury, but this time the flirty smile I've seen on his face about a dozen times doesn't reach his eyes. I get the feeling that the other guy actually does look worse. A lot worse.

"I hate that I have to do this, because if this were any other day I would patch you up myself, but I've got a few things tonight that just won't wait. I'm in the middle of work. So I'm going to go in there, get your sister, and then drop you two off at Jefferson."

Jefferson Medical is one of the best hospitals in the city and is walking distance from here. It's probably a good idea for me to be seen, but it's Cutter who probably needs to see a doctor more than me.

"I think you're the one who needs the stitches," I say although he chooses to ignore me.

Cutter walks into the restaurant effortlessly with me still completely held in his arms. Bloodied. Battered. Bruised. He's still angry. I'm still stunned. I'm sure we both look a sight.

"Can you put me down now? I think I'm fine to walk."

"You may have a head injury."

"You're making a scene."

"The answer is no."

Cutter carries me through the restaurant, weaving us through the maze of white tablecloths, as if I weigh nothing which as much as I'd like to wish was the case–just isn't. I'll never forget how a guy I was seeing last year tried to lift me in the shower during sex, and when he couldn't hold me, asked me to ease up on the chips. I kicked his ass out, but it was still mortifying.

"Point her out," Cutter orders quietly.

"There she is."

Dawn runs over to us.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she asks frantically. Looking at me. Then Cutter. "What happened to my sister?" she shrieks at him.

"We're taking your sister to the ER. I believe it was your boyfriend who just punched her in the face."

"What?" she asks incredulously as if one of us could actually make this stuff up.

"I said your lowlife boyfriend hit your sister like she was a goddamn man. Now are you going to the ER with her or not?"

The whole restaurant is staring at us.

"I um–"

"Let's go if you're going. Got things to do, little girl," he says as he strides back toward the exit with me still in his arms. "And when we get outside, you better walk by that piece of trash like you don't even see him."

Dawn looks at me for a moment, stands, grabs her things, and follows us solemnly out of the restaurant. Typically I would not have let that slide. Normally I wouldn't have let someone talk to my sister like that. Especially a man.

But my eye is swollen shut, my face is on fire, and watching Cutter King silence my sassy, seventeen-year-old sister was probably the hottest thing I've seen in a long time.

Wait a minute, I think I actually may have a concussion.