Crown of Lies
Now, there were three.
I wasn’t safe.
Even if the newcomer seemed to fight on my side.
Scrambling to my feet, I pulled at the ruined pieces of my top.
The new guy followed my torn clothing, eyeing my bra. His jaw clenched and a low growl echoed in the alley. Whatever had sewn us together for those few seconds snapped.
He launched himself at Baseball Cap.
He tackled the wannabe rapist to the ground, punching him once, twice, three times in the stomach.
They rolled around, legs kicking, arms whirling until the hooded figure swung a well-aimed sucker-punch right into the nose of Baseball Cap.
The man dissolved from hooligan to helpless. His arms and hands came up to shield his face. His mouth bloody and breath ragged. “Fuck, we give, we give. Stop!”
Immediately, the hooded figure clambered to his feet. Wrenching a hand over his face, he grunted. “Second time I’ve caught you assholes. There won’t be a third.”
Adidas pushed off the concrete with both hands, climbing unsteadily to his feet. “Fuck you.”
The hooded figure stepped forward and, with a quick jab, delivered another punch into Adidas’s throat.
“Ah, fu—” He collapsed to his knees, his hands around his neck, gasping like a lunatic. “I—I can’t—breathe—”
To my horror, I smiled a little. I had no sympathy for him, but I shouldn’t take enjoyment from such violence.
Should I?
The hooded man pointed at Adidas squirming on the floor. “That was for being rude.” His leg came out again, connecting with the white jacket covering Adidas’s ribs. “That’s for being a cunt.” His face turned toward me, but I couldn’t see his features in the dark. Never looking away from me, he threw another punch at Adidas’s head. It wasn’t at full power, merely a swat—a telling off. “And that’s for her.”
Stepping back, he crossed his arms. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Adidas still hadn't learned his lesson. He spat blood, glistening black in the night. “Fuck you twice, man. You can’t scare us.”
The hooded man took a menacing step closer.
Baseball Cap dodged forward, nursing a sore arm. He held up a hand in surrender, some sort of chivalry coming through to protect his asshole friend. “Look, we’re done, okay?”
The hooded man glanced at Adidas—the asshole who’d been moments away from stealing my virginity. His voice lashed out like a dark whip, demanding obedience. “And you? Are you done?”
Adidas nodded profusely. “Fine. Sure.”
“Good.” The hooded man held out his hand. Blood marked his fingers, but I couldn’t tell if it was from him or his victims. “Cough it up.”
Baseball Cap scrambled backward, shaking his head. “Nah, no way.” He patted his pocket with a sick gleam in his gaze. “Nah, man. You take the girl. We’ll take the cash.”
Hooded Man cocked his head. It was nothing more than an innocent move, but it dripped with threat. “Do you want to die tonight, Gio? Because I can arrange that.”
Gio?
He knows their names?
How?
Adidas scoffed. “Do you know who you’re fucking talking to?”
Hooded Man glowered. “I know exactly who I’m talking to and wouldn’t your fucking father be glad to hear what I have to tell him?” He pulled his hoodie higher over his face, making himself featureless, a black void. “If you don’t stop and call these fucking games quit, I’ll do worse than beat you.”
What the hell is going on?
I couldn’t decide who was scarier: the two men who’d grabbed me or this savior wrapped in black.
The hooded man’s voice was a menacing growl—a mix between gravel and velvet. His body was lithe beneath the oversized hoodie and holey jeans. He looked like a skater-rat—the poster child for rebellion and lawlessness.
He had the air of one of our in-store billboards with a rough and ready skater in a half-pipe selling baggy jeans and chain belts with a spray can in his hand. When I’d approved the marketing, I’d feared it was a little ‘rough’ for our clean brand for teenagers. Turned out, that banner was tame compared to this man.
Baseball Cap stepped forward. “Hand over the money, Sean.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Adidas grumbled, reluctantly pulling out my cash. I didn’t care about the money, but if the faceless savior wanted to return my property, I wouldn’t argue.
Hooded Man held out his hand.
Sean, the Adidas punk, angrily shoved the dollar bills into his grip. The second the cash changed hands, it vanished into the hooded man’s jeans like a magic trick.
He turned to me, his face still a dark secret. “Did they steal anything else?” His gaze traveled down my front where I held my torn top together.
I flinched under his inspection, wishing my bra didn’t peek out behind my hands, and my bare stomach wasn’t so on display. My head pounded from the punch, and the pungent whiffs from the alley didn’t help my swirl of nausea.
When I didn’t reply, Hooded Man pointed at my destroyed top and discarded jacket on the floor. “Did they? Steal anything else, I mean? They tore your clothes. Do you want me to ruin theirs in return?”
My eyes widened. “Wh—what?”
His head tilted, hearing me speak for the first time. A low chuckle came from the blackness of his hood. “I can make them strip and run home naked if it would make you feel better.” He waved at my tattered top. “You don’t need to hide. I won’t let them hurt you. You’re safe with me.”