Chapter Eighteen

Rory watched Lena strut toward the exit. Who the hell was in charge here, anyway? Determined to set some boundaries, he followed her. Out on the sidewalk, he was about to call to her when the sound of heavy boots, hot on his heels, stopped him dead in his tracks. His earlier premonition heavy in his gut, he turned…and found himself face to face with a madder-than-hell Jack.

The guy was nursing a badly cracked nose, dried blood coloring the front of his shirt a bright red. Behind him, his buddies filed out, the lot looking eager for a fight.

“Jack!” Lena called out. “You woke up. That’s great. And, here, I thought I was just too much to handle.”

“Lena, shut up,” Rory shot out a hand to keep her from slipping past him. One more word out of her, and these guys would pounce like dogs on a bone. Right now, six outnumbered the two of them. They were big, strong guys, too, who looked like they spent their spare time lifting weights—or breaking trees in two with their bare hands.

Shit! He winced at the beating that was starting to look unavoidable.

This would not be pretty.

At the moment, the only advantage he could see was that the men were all in various stages of inebriation. Hopefully, that meant that their aim would be sloppy.

“Come on, guys. We don’t want any trouble,” he admonished, keeping a firm grip on Lena’s arm. He didn’t like the glint of anticipation in her eyes. “Don’t do anything rash,” he muttered to her.

Jack leaned on his buddy and sneered. “You should have thought of that when the bitch stole what’s mine. Nobody messes with Jack. Ain’t that right, boys?”

There were grunts and sniggers of agreement.

Rory edged off the porch steps, away from the men who were forming a half-circle around him and Lena. He made a quick calculation of how many he’d be able to take on if it came to blows. Three? Four…maybe? But only if they didn’t come at him all at once.

“Give us a break. My friend, here, has a problem taking things that aren’t hers.” He tried to diffuse the situation but had a sinking feeling the effort was futile. “She just came out of a mental institution. We’ll return what’s yours and forget about it.” He cursed himself for leaving his gun in the car and cast a furtive glance at the vehicle waiting a hundred feet away.

Real good thinking.

Two men blocked their retreat, and Jack spat a wad of blood, missing Rory’s shoe by an inch. “Don’t think I can do that. But tell you what. We’ll cure your friend of her nasty habit, no worries.”

The unhinged look about him worried Rory more than the other men leering at a curiously meek Lena. What the hell was wrong with her, anyway? Damn it! Had another personality just popped up? He sure as hell hoped not. He had enough to worry about as it was.

And he could use Lena’s help.

One of the bull-necked hicks grabbed his groin suggestively, and the hackles in Rory’s neck rose. Lena—or Nina, or whoever she was now—ignored the byplay altogether, seeming miles away.

Rory pulled her close and whispered, “When I say go, you run like hell. You hear me?”

Nothing. No response from her. Not even a flicker.

Fuck!

The group advanced like a hungry pack, and Rory gave her a mighty shove in the car’s direction. The men howled enthusiastically with the prospect of the upcoming pound fest. Rory swore and pivoted on his heel to swing his booted foot into the first guy’s stomach. There wasn’t time to appreciate his accurate aim. He spun and kicked the next guy’s jaw. The man was sent sprawling, and Rory’s attention shifted to the two others coming at him. Jack, he saw from the corner of his eye, confidently ambled toward Nina, his bloodied teeth bared in a mockery of a smile.

“Run!” Rory shouted at her. She blinked once, but just stood there, utterly impassive.

Given no choice but to intervene, he dodged a flying fist, jumped over one of his earlier victims, and rammed the heel of his hand into Jack’s sternum.

Gasping for air, the man crashed to the dusty ground.

Rory growled at an expected rib-bruising punch from behind. He whirled, just in time to block a jab that would have taken him down for sure.

Punches flew, grunts were uttered, and bones protested in the violent dance that ensued. Skill, combined with experience—and more than a little luck—allowed him to deflect the most debilitating blows, and swiftly retaliate.

His peripheral vision showed another guy going for Nina. This one had held back until his friends fully engaged Rory. There was no time to come to her aid. They were all on him now, and he needed everything he had to keep from going down under their relentless attacks. By sending another man face-first into the dust, Rory was about to gain the upper hand—sort of—when a bottle smashed against his temple.

An onslaught of stars flashed before his eyes.

“Get him! Get him, quick,” Jack wheezed excitedly.

Rory’s arms were dragged behind his back and he was forced to his knees.

“Will you look at that? Much better.” Smirking, Jack straightened, wrapping his arm around an unflinching Nina.

Rory might have tried something, but at the sight of a stiletto knife glinting in the late-afternoon sun he froze. Using the blade suggestively, Jack stroked Nina’s cheek.

“Don’t this look nice, boys?” the son of a bitch drawled, his arm coming up to wipe at the blood that dribbled from his nose. “We’re going to have us some fun with this one. Where’s my money, bitch?”

“If you hurt her—” Rory was cut off by a vicious blow to his kidney. “I’ll kill you,” he finished on a wheeze, earning himself a sucker punch in the gut.

Jack roared with laughter. “You’re in no position to make threats, pal,” he said. “Now, back to you, sugar. I want what’s mine.”

Nina’s posture altered subtly. Her impassive expression was replaced by an amused little smile aimed at her captor.

Rory didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

“The name’s Joey, not sugar, Jacko,” she corrected huskily. “And about your money. Have you ever heard of that little rule about finders, keepers? It’s mine, fair and square.” Her eyes scanned him calculatingly from top to bottom. “Tell you what. You look like a one-on-one kind of guy. What do you say to you and me settling our account privately? Your friends, here, can deal with my…uh…friend.”

Rory could only watch with impotent rage. What the hell was she doing? She was setting herself up to be alone with this lunatic.

Seriously hurting, he squinted at her, trying desperately to decide if this personality knew how to fight.

She tapped a playful finger on the other man’s blood-smeared lips.

Rory was amazed to actually see a spark of interest flare in the man’s beady eyes. He already had a broken nose. Could he really be that stupid?

Seeing Jack measuring her up, it became clear he definitely was.

“No tricks?” the moron demanded.

Rory fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Scout’s honor. If it makes you feel any better, you can tie my hands. I’ll be all yours,” Joey purred, her smile full of sexual promise.

“All right, sugar.”

What were the odds? Forgetting his captors for only a moment, Rory marveled at Jack’s stupidity. Coming face to face with such a fine specimen of inbreeding at a time like this was downright unbelievable.

He could use this.

He would use this.

Eagerly plunging toward his own demise, Jack nodded to his left. “My car’s right over there. If you’re real sweet, I might even forgive you for breaking my nose.”

“How generous,” Joey countered, and allowed the man to pull her along toward a brown Camaro parked at the corner of the full lot.

The men holding Rory started chuckling, shouting obscenities after them. Obviously the stupid gene wasn’t limited to Jack.

Frustrated anger churning in his gut, he had no choice but to watch as Jack dragged Joey away.

He hoped like hell she had a plan.