"Semantics."
"What was I yapping about?"
"f.u.c.ked if I know, I wasn"t listening."
"d.i.c.khead," I say.
I turn around again, though, and see that the two guys are still there.
"I think they are following us."
Chance turns, and one of them calls out.
"Got a light, mate?"
Chance stops, and I notice that he isn"t looking so carefree anymore. His face has gone hard, and he steps in front of me, and pulls out his zippo.
"Cheers."
"No problem," he says.
"American, are you? Tourists?"
I look at the man now smoking his cigarette, and his friend. They look around our age. They"ve got a sway to them, like they"ve been drinking.
"Yeah," Chance says.
"Oh yeah? Jimmy here"s got a cousin in America, don"t you, Jimmy?"
"North Carolina," he says, and he flashes a grin. "I fink."
"So who"s this pretty girl, then?" the man smoking says, and he looks me up and down. He grins at me, flashes a set of teeth. "She your bird?"
I can feel my heartbeat starting to quicken. I"m a little afraid, and adrenaline is starting to course through my body.
I want to get my phone from my bag, but realize I don"t know the emergency number here, anyway.
G.o.d, that is so stupid of me!
"You need a light too, Jimmy?" Chance asks, and his voice is icy.
"Yeah, I"ll take one."
Chance sparks a flame, and cups it with his hand while Jimmy leans in with his cigarette.
"That"s a nice lighter," he says, and he puts out his hand. "Give it here, yeah?"
Chance flicks the lighter shut, and holds it in between two fingers. "Don"t think so."
"Come on, mate, I just want to have a look."
"Maybe next time," Chance says.
That"s when the atmosphere changes noticeably. I can hear everybody breathing.
Chance steps forward, right in between me and the two guys. A car trundles by, the headlights wiping over us for a moment.
"I want to see your lighter."
"I really don"t care," Chance growls.
The only thing I can think of is: f.u.c.king boys!
"You should, "cause it"s two of us and only one of you, and you got yourself a girl here." He winks at me, and I wrinkle my nose. I look around, but there is n.o.body else on the street, and all the shops have shut.
"Will you just leave us alone?" I say, tugging at Chance"s hand. "Come on, let"s go. Let"s not do this."
I feel his hand close around mine, and he gives it a squeeze before he pushes me a step back.
"What do you say?" Chance says. "How about you two walk away?"
"How about you let us see that lighter?"
I groan, and say, "What is wrong with you two, it"s just a lighter!"
Jimmy"s face creases with irritation, and he says, "Oh, just put a sock in it, you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h."
Chance moves, lightning fast, and I don"t even see it, I just hear it, a loud thump followed by a cry of pain. Jimmy hits the floor, clutching at his jaw, and Chance storms at the other one, angry strides and fists c.o.c.ked.
He"s light on his feet, dances around, ducks a punch and then throws his fist into the guy"s gut, doubling him over, winded and gasping.
It"s over in seconds. Chance grabs Jimmy by the hair, hoists his head up off the ground, and I see tears in his eyes and anguish on his face.
"Say sorry," Chance snarls in his ear.
"Faurk orff."
I watch as Chance slaps him hard, eliciting a high-pitched cry of pain.
"Say sorry!"
Jimmy wilts, hand at the side of his face. "Sahwry! Sahwry!"
"Your jaw"s broken, by the way. That"s why you can"t talk properly. You"re going to be eating through a f.u.c.king tube for months. Hope it was worth it, b.i.t.c.h."
Chance grabs me by the arm and yanks me down the street, and we start walking fast.
"You broke his jaw?"
"Yeah," he says, turning angry eyes on me.
"Hey, don"t take it out on me."
He looks like he"s going to retort, fire something nasty back, but he doesn"t. Instead, he just rubs his knuckles once a they"re bruised a and then wraps an arm around me and pulls me with him as he walks quickly.
"We need to get back onto a busy street."
"Why?"
"No doubt those s.h.i.+ts have friends and phones."
Chapter Twenty Seven.
I"m angry as f.u.c.k.
My hand hurts, and now I"m looking over my shoulder. There"s no worse feeling. Just because I beat up two punks doesn"t mean that it"s the end of it.
They"ll be dialing their friends, looking for some gang payback.
It"s always like that with these kinds of guys. Can"t win a fight two-on-one? Then they go ten-on-one.
And no matter how good of a fighter I am, the odds of winning decrease drastically with each new opponent you add.
Meanwhile, Ca.s.sie is busy asking me if I had to break the guy"s jaw.
"Couldn"t you have just hit him softer?"
It"s not like breaking his jaw was my intent. I just f.u.c.king hit him.
I felt the hinge dislodge right when my fist impacted him. It was subtle, just a click, not far enough for all the nerves to tear, for him to pa.s.s out from blinding pain.
But enough that he could feel it, couldn"t talk properly.
Enough that he"ll have a h.e.l.l of a time eating anything solid for weeks, if not months.
I don"t feel a shred of remorse. If you step to someone, you"d better be f.u.c.king ready to take all he can give you.
n.o.body threatens what"s mine. Those two f.u.c.kers got off easy.
"Chance, will you slow down? I can"t walk this fast. What are you so mad about now anyway? It"s over."
And of course she doesn"t understand why I"m angry.
But the strength of my anger surprises even me. Just the thought of her being threatened, just the thought of her being hurt in some way...
I feel it in my bones... rage.
I want to protect her. I want to keep her safe. And that was a close call. Too f.u.c.king close. I should have noticed them following us.
My heart is pumping crazy fast, and I would be lying if I said that a part of me wasn"t thrilled. I didn"t enjoy it, but it brings into sharp focus just how much I enjoy fighting.
It"s not the violence of it, but it"s the... primal compet.i.tion. There"s a lot of strategy to fighting, a lot of nuance, a lot of reading your opponent.
Those two guys were easy, untrained and drunk, and still it left adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I... I miss training. I miss having an opponent to compete against.
When my mother said I was good at so much more than fighting, she didn"t realize that even if that was true, nothing else but fighting can get my heart going like this.
Fighting, and Ca.s.sie.
"Hey," I say, turning to her. "You okay?"
"Of course I"m okay. I"m fine. Just drunk boys."
She tries to force the words out too quickly. She"s lying. She is a little shaken. I pull her in to my side, kiss her by her ear.
The thought that I just protected my little sister makes me laugh. I think about saying it, but our family status seems to bug her more than it bugs me. It"s just a f.u.c.king technicality, I don"t see what the big deal is.
"Will he really have to eat through a straw for months?"
"I don"t know. Maybe," I say.
"You took them down quick."
"They were drunk and slow. Two-on-one is never a position you want to find yourself in. In a fight, I mean."
"Think our parents will be p.i.s.sed we"re coming home so late?" she asks.
"No doubt your father will be. He"ll probably call you by your full name."
"Ca.s.sie Shannon," she says, mocking him, and I laugh. She"s got his facial expression down pat.
"I can"t believe my mother married your father."
"I can"t believe your father married my mother. They seem totally wrong for each other, don"t they?"
I nod. "They do."
"They"ll probably get divorced, won"t they?"