Temptation [A Young Writer's Prize Submission]

My Heroes

CHAPTER EIGHT

Give justice to the weak and fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute.

Psalm 82:3

Will's response was a choking gurgle, as more air was squeezed out of him. I fought the slightly hysteric laughter, that things could have changed course so easily. However, I was dizzy enough that passing out was the greater danger.

As my sight cleared, I saw two men standing either side of my attacker. One held Will by the throat, a good foot off the ground. The other slowly turned his attention to me, going down on his knees to help rearrange my clothing and inspect my injuries.

"Glad that's agreed," the rescuer gripping Will's neck smiled, then practically threw him against the alley wall. Will dropped like a sack of stones and I flinched away from his limp body.

Finally, the disgusting gag was extracted from my mouth and tossed aside, similarly to Will.

"Are you alright?" the first rescuer asked me, turning his attention away from Will as if the bastard had never been there. I wasn't really, but I had other things to worry about.

"Did you kill him?" I asked, my voice pitifully small.

He shook his head. "He'll be out cold for a few hours."

"You should have killed him." I was beginning to shake, partly as aftermath from the trauma Will had inflicted; partly from the sudden feeling of safety emanating from these two men: mostly, because in this dingy alley, the cold London winds felt amplified.

The rescuers appeared not to have heard me, but it didn't bother me. Both helped me to my feet, their hands gentle on my arms and waist, as if I was a fallen bird they were saving. Seeing me shiver, one of them removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

Walking the short distance from the alley to the car also proved difficult, so they stood either side of me, supporting my waist - and most of my weight - as I coaxed my legs to move.

The dimly lit streets seemed more like a beacon of safety than they ever had before, but I still glanced nervously back into the alley, afraid Will would wake far faster than my saviours had predicted.

It was then I realised I should probably thank these two strangers: who else would save a girl in an alley when it was Will Bishop who'd forced her there?

But the words of gratitude died on my tongue as I saw them more clearly.

I wasn't a tall person, barely reaching five foot four, but these men towered over me, probably pushing six and a half foot - easily. They were muscular, not disguised at all by the grey silk suits they wore. It occurred to me that had they wanted to, they'd have had no problem tearing Will Bishop limb from limb.

The one who had been choking him stood about three inches taller than his friend; his fair hair shorn to the scalp, like he'd recently left the army and his hair hadn't yet grown back. His features were strong and handsome - had I been any other girl, in any other situation, I'd have been extremely tongue-tied, thinking of outrageous flirts to attract their attention. For the moment, however, I was under too much duress to cast much thought on the prospect.

My other rescuer was almost a polar opposite, though they shared some features that might have suggested a fraternal connection: the piercing blue eyes, the full lips and the strong jaw. This one had a deeper tan, more heavily-set shoulders, and a thick neck that strained against his shirt collar. His hair was long, brushing his shoulders, and much darker than his companion's.

Both had tattoos. The fairer one had it behind his ear: a pure black tribal knife, with a thorned rose coiled around it, inside the letter 'D'. His darker friend's tattoo was splayed across his neck, disappearing under his collar. It too, had a large D, pierced through by an angry red trident. The skin around it looked a little inflamed - perhaps it had been done recently.