Page 48 of Last Man Standing

“Preparing to commit murder. Catch you in a bit.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I end our call and stride through the shop doors, slipping my phone into my pocket and freeing up my hands.

Homicide 101, bitch.

Blind to my approach, Scarlett scoots out of her aisle and ducks into the next, only to let out a squeak when the second dude pops up and flashes a taunting grin.

It’s like they’re hunting. They’re playing with their prey.

They’re making a game of this, and intend to collect their beautiful, blue-eyed trophy.

“You won’t stay a minute and talk to us?” The second one tries on his ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ voice, shuffling a foot to the left and barring her exit. So she spins on her heels and discovers they’ve boxed her in.

Is this what it’s like for all beautiful, doe-eyed women? Or is Scarlett special? Can a female not even visit a gas station candy aisle without being accosted by small-dicked fuckwits who think ‘no’ is code for ‘I secretly want you, but you need to nag me for it first’?

“Excuse me?” She raises her voice and attempts a glance toward the front counter. “Can I get some help, please? These men are harassing me.”

I look to the font and find… nothing. If someone mans that counter, he ain’t there right now.

“Please?” Scarlett’s voice trembles with desperation. With fear. She releases her load of snacks and allows the lot to fall to the floor.

I guess she heard about homicide 101, too.

Free those hands, Princess.

Now where’s your knife?

“Go away.” She works hard to harden her voice. To broaden her shoulders and stand her ground. “I said go away!” Snarling, she backs up to escape the dude in front’s advance, only to crash into the guy behind and jump forward again with a cry. “Don’t touch me!”

“You sound like a frigid fuckin’ bitch. We just wanted to say hello.”

“I’m not interested.” She has nowhere to go unless she wants to climb the damn racks and vault over the top. Which, I guess, I was kinda hoping she would. For her own mental health, for her own soul, I was hoping she could get through this on her own, but when the fuckface behind her curls a lock of her hair around his finger and brings it up to his nose, she turns deathly still.

She ain’t dealing with shit.

Not today.

Maybe not ever.

Shaking my head, I steamroll the length of the store and grab the hair-sniffing motherfucker around the back of his neck, squeezing hard enough I feel his spine compress. Picking him up and bringing him back down over my knee, I take satisfaction in the snap-crackle-pop of his vertebrae as he drops to the filthy floor and pisses his pants.

Literally.

Scarlett cries out in terror, spinning and giving the second dude her back—we really need to work on that—so I stalk forward and use his face like a bowling ball. One finger in each eye-socket, and my thumb under his chin. I throw him against the wall and enjoy the crunch of his skull colliding with brick. He collapses to the floor, but I’m not quite done with him yet, so I pick him up again, fist his blood-soaked hair, and smash his face against the wall until his nose shatters, teeth ping against the floor, and a fresh, pungent stench of urine joins the first.

Both men need better diets.

“Sebastion?” Tears soak Scarlett’s eyes and spill onto her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“Nah, that’s your trauma brain, Princess. You don’t need to apologize for existing.” I drop my guy and turn to the other, moaning and attempting to climb to his hands and knees. Since she felt the need to say sorry for this shit, I wind my foot back, then I swing it forward and destroy the side of his face with the steel tip of my boot. He flies six feet to the right and wipes out the candy shelf, sending bottles of mouthwash crashing to the floor on the other side. Individually wrapped toothbrushes fly like shrapnel. Packaged shower loofahs bounce like beach balls at a rave.

Finally, finally, the cashier sprints back to his post, wide-eyed and horrified and completely fucking clueless to the bullshit that almost went down in his store. “What the hell, man?”

“I just stopped a sexual assault.” I hook my hand around the back of Scarlett’s head and tug her against my chest. Maybe she doesn’t want me to touch. Maybe she’ll shove me away. Fuck knows, I’m probably the last guy on earth she wants to be near. But she loops her arms around my hips and squeezes tight, howling into my chest like I may be the only thing tethering her to this planet. “She called for you! She begged for help, and you were…” I glance around. “Where? Out the back pulling your dick?”

“No, I was⁠—”

“I don’t actually give a fuck. You weren’t here when she needed you. You have a duty to your customers, and she has a right to feel safe when she’s looking for snacks. Now your bitch ass is gonna spend the rest of today cleaning this place up.” I wrap my hands around the sides of Scarlett’s neck and force her back until I’m met with tormented eyes and trembling lips. “You probably shoulda tried shoving a knife into his brain. It never fails.” I risk a small smile and breathe a little easier when her sorrow doesn’t grow worse.

I mean, it’s not better, either. But still.