Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [5]
“I don’t have much money,” she said in a deceptively calm voice.
“Not interested in money,” one of them said, as they crowded together, advancing on her. “Who wants first go?”
“Me,” said one of the younger ones, a skinny little rat with bad teeth and a feral look in his eyes. He was already reaching for his belt, and she opened her mouth to scream for help.
They were on her, slamming her onto the littered street, pawing at her, pressing her down, and no matter how she tried to kick or punch, someone always managed to stop her. She felt something sharp against her throat, and the young one grinned down at her. “I don’t mind cutting your throat first. I ain’t picky. I like a good fight, but if you want to lie there and bleed while I do you I’m not arguing.”
“Please,” she whispered, feeling the blade against her skin. She felt hands pulling at her jeans, trying to yank them down, and she kicked out, connecting with something painful, judging by the yelp of agony.
The boy straddling her turned and snarled, like a dog whose meal is threatened, and for a moment the pressure of the knife lessened. She slammed her head against his, feeling the blade knick her skin, knocking him off her and trying to roll away. But there were too many hands, too many bodies, and she knew there was nothing she could do but—
“Move away from her.” The voice was cool, deadly and blessedly American. Enough of a shock to stop the pack of teenagers from ripping at her.
The ringleader rolled off her, peering into the night. “And who’s going to stop us? There’s one of you and seven of us, and I think you’d be smart to just keep on the way you were going. You can have a taste of what’s left.”
“Move away from her,” he said again, stepping into the light. “Or I’ll make you.”
“You and what army?”
The scene was disjointed, crazy, dreamlike. There was a flash of light, and the boy was flung back, away from her, as if by unseen hands. A moment later the sound of a gun cracked the darkness, out of sync. And then they were scrambling away from her, disappearing into the shadows, and a moment later all was silent.
“Are you all right?” The man moved out of the darkness. In the bright moonlight he looked ordinary enough. Tall, in jeans and a T-shirt, maybe five years older than she was. Nothing to scare a gang intent on rape. But he had scared them. He saved her—he was one of the good guys.
He reached out a hand to her, and for a moment she wanted to shrink back, away from him. She was being stupid, and she took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she said. A lie. “How did you get them to run?”
He was taller than she was, lean and harmless looking. Not the type to frighten a bunch of creeps bent on rape.
“Car backfired,” he said easily. “They must have thought I had a gun.” He was still holding her hand, and she jerked away, suddenly nervous.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He tilted his head, looking down at her. He was wearing wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a slightly studious look. “Are you sure you’re all right? I think I should take you to a hospital.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice stronger. “I just need to get back to the youth hostel.”
“The one on Market Street? I’ll take you there. I’ve got a car.”
She just stared at him. “You really think I’m going to get into a car with a stranger, no matter how harmless he looks, a few moments after I was nearly raped and murdered? How stupid do you think I am?”
“I look harmless?” he replied, faintly amused. “I suppose I am. But I still managed to scare those boys away. And as for how stupid I think you are, pretty damn stupid to be walking alone in this part of town close to midnight. And whether you like it or not, I’m not leaving you until you’re safe behind locked doors.”
“They don’t lock the doors at the hostel.”
He just stared at her for a long moment. In the moonlit alleyway she couldn’t see him that clearly. Just a tall figure, bordering