Page 2 of Protect Me

The corrupt men hunting me will catch me unless I get out of sight. Remaining where I am is signing my own death warrant. Then again, a swift death would not be unwelcome at this point. But neither Robert nor his men will deliver that to me.

No, they want me to suffer. They want me to commit evil along with them. When I refuse, they’ll only go to greater lengths to convince me. They’ll break me. And that’s what scares me most. Because I know they can.

If I’m lucky, the Ringmaster will take pity. But I chase that thought away. The Ringmaster’s reputation paints him as shrewd in his dealings. There will be no pity. Only opportunity. If I can convince him I’m valuable, he’ll keep me. If not, he won’t. It’s as simple as that.

At least, with him, I have a chance to offer value beyond the magical gifts that willneverbe available. Not to him and not to anyone. Not even for the price of my life.

As Robert is so furiously figuring out right about now.

Asshole.

I sniffle, shoving down the guilt I shoulder for the part I played in Robert’s downfall. If it weren’t for me, he’d likely still be the charming man I’d met all those years ago. The one with a quick smile and bright eyes.

The image of his twisted expression as he slammed his fist into my jaw assaults me, and I clench my hands into fists.

My own fury fuels me, and I manage to make it nearly to the entrance before my body finally gives out. My knees buckle, and I go down hard, crying out sharply at the sudden pain it brings. I bite it off quickly, terrified I’ve alerted the asshole to my location.

But before I can twist around to see if I’ve brought him running, a heavy iron door opens in the center of the crumbling apartment complex. A figure steps out. Male, from the silhouette of him. And bathed in the light emanating behind him, though shadows make it impossible for me to make out features, the first stranger is followed by another. And a third. Security. The Ringmaster wouldn’t come out here himself. These must be his guards.

I don’t say a word. If I open my mouth now, all that’ll come out is a scream, and I refuse to give in to the pain just yet.

The figures approach as a single unit, and I’m able to make out their shapes. Definitely males. I manage to look up at them through blurred, puffy eyes before the adrenaline driving me finally wears off and I sprawl onto my side in the dirt.

“Whoa,” one of them says. The front man. He steps forward, and the other two spread out on either side of him in a sort of “V” formation like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Like they’re trying to assess what level of threat I am.

Desperation has me whispering, “Asylum.”

“What’s that?” The front man steps closer, crouching down.

I see stark blue eyes set against a hard jaw. Handsome. Too handsome. My stomach tenses because, in my experience, men who look like him behave like Robert. And I damn sure don’t want to find out if that’s a stereotype or fact. But it’s this or let myself be discovered here by the demon himself.

“Ringmaster...” My ribs squeeze with every syllable, and I shut my eyes against the pain. Wheezing, I wait to see if they’ll grant my request.

“What do you think, Duncan?” one of the others asks.

“She’s asking for the Ringmaster,” the front man says. Duncan, apparently.

“Is she drunk?” the third asks, mild humor coloring his tone. My fists clench at that, but I can’t afford a reply.

“She’s not fucking drunk, you dumbass,” the second one shoots back. He steps closer, peering over Duncan’s shoulder at me. Up close, I catch sight of multiple facial piercings glinting in the light against an angled jaw and green eyes that prickle my skin where they scan my body. I watch as he gets a closer look at my face, and his own expression registers shock.

“What is it, Kill?” the third one prompts, inching closer now too.

But Kill—whatever kind of name that is—doesn't answer. He blinks, his green gaze resettling on mine, and a dark sort of fury flashes in their green depths.

“She’s covered in fucking bruises, dude.” Duncan’s tone has turned deadly. “Someone did a real number on her.”

“I can fucking see that,” the third snaps. “Drunken fight?”

“Do you smell liquor on her?” Kill retorts.

“No,” the third replies.

Out among the trees, voices sound—male voices—all of them working for the asshole who did this to me. I tense, my wheezing cut short as I hold my breath and wait to see what my fate will be.

“Someone’s out there,” the third one says. “They might have done this to her. We should get her inside until we know.”

“I’ve got her.” Duncan reaches down and scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all.