New Orleans I 18+

7. Fight Or Flight

I wasn't one to pray often, in fact I couldn't remember the last time I'd visited a church or kneeled beside my bed. Today was one of those 'Hail Mary' days, muttering to anyone listening I prayed that everyone would walk out of here today.

Shoving to his feet and stepping out of the booth in a singular, powerful motion Reece closes the distance between us. Leaving no room for conversation or escape, his arm shot past me to fist Max's collar. Dragging him out from behind the table he hauled the large man up, slamming him down onto the countertop framing the ice cream bar.

Gasps filled the air as Max's heavy body collided with the marble surface. Cringing, I felt the assault as though it had been me. Jerking into action, I moved to intervene. "Are you fucking insane-" I began, only to be restrained by the merciless gangster's lap dogs.

Holding my arms, Jose, and a newbie I was unfamiliar with held me back. Cocking my head to abuse them I struggled violently. "Annie, don't." Jose warned. Watching Reece's fisted hand fly through the air and connect with Max's jaw I looked away. Riddled with guilt I fought against the firm grips locking my arms in place.

Weighing my limited options– little to none– I slackened momentarily. "Reece please!" I begged, knowing I was no match against a Castigate. "You can't fucking do this!" I screamed, wondering if there was even a shred of morality in him that could see injustice in his acts. The onslaught persisted, his leather clad elbow spiking high with each blow.

A wide cut appeared on Max's cheekbone– one side of his face inflating from the unrelenting attack. His busted lip continued to seep blood. Thinking it was all but over for the new guy, I made several more fruitless attempts to free myself.

My eyes widened as Max caught Reece's fist mid-air. Clutching his jacket, Max shoved him back enough to drive his shoe into his assailant's abdomen. Having never witnessed anyone best Reece Trammel we all watched silently.

I felt my concern shift, Reece's low groan lit a spark of anger in my torso. Jose's grip wavered as shock took him captive. Using his lack of concentration to my advantage I broke away. Striking him once, Max managed to draw blood. "Reece-" I gasped instinctively reaching for him. Shoving Max away, Reece shot up to his feet.

I made it two steps before Max's lean frame barrelled past me– lunging towards Reece– knocking my small build into the backboard of a booth seat. Reece's explosive rage set ablaze at the site of my injured form. His large fingers clamped around Max's throat with a loud slap. Rushing him back to smash into the rear wall, Reece cursed incoherently. "Fucker...fucking touched her! You're dead-" Max clawed at his opponent, gaining enough traction to dig a knee into Reece's middle.

Reece's didn't relent, as though the hit to his abdomen had no effect whatsoever. Max's bartered features began to change colour, the lack of oxygen moving to his vital organs causing the discomfort. "Reece..." I breathed, the desperation in my voice breaking through his delirious rage.

Releasing Max abruptly he rushed to my side, kneeling he scooped me into his arms and settled me onto the surface of the table beside us. Sliding down the wall Max coughed violently, replenishing his lungs of the air of which they'd been deprived. "Reece, she's stronger than she looks-" the rookie stepped forward, explaining his failure to keep me restrained.

"Fuck off." Reece gritted out the order, not taking his eyes off me for a second.

"We're not done, bro." Max rasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood and saliva. Staggering to his feet, he smirked. Battered and bruised the man's arrogance did not waver. Shuddered, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of joy cross his features. Was he inane, stupid or both?

"Get outta here before I finish the job." Reece barked, his fingers pressing into my thighs.

"Reece-" I cautiously began.