Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

“His bro hit me. So I’m gonna fuck his brother up.”

There was logic. The gang activity in the area was the reason Dakota’s family was moving. This was his last day in school. Probably the group had missed catching up with his older brother, so they’d take their anger out on the kid.

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “And whoever tries to get him will have to come through me.”

Oh shit, wrong thing to say!

They lunged at her from all sides.

She hosed them with the pepper spray.

Shouts of anger filled the air.

She hadn’t gotten nearly enough of them.

Blinded, one ran into her, knocking her back a step. Another brought a 2x2 down on her wrist. Pain ripped through her flesh and bone. Hell. The spray canister dropped from her nerveless hand.

A fist slammed into her face. She shook her head, blinked back tears, and nailed the creep in the eye. A kick to the balls downed the next guy.

The one behind him knocked her sprawling onto the unforgiving concrete. A boot hit her hip. As pain blasted into her, she barely muffled a scream.

They were getting past her. No!

On hands and knees, she kicked at the legs bypassing her for the tree. One yelled when she got his knee. Another hit the ground. Panting, she tried to stand, failed…and someone on the sidewalk screamed. Pulling her pocketknife out, she managed to open it.

The shouting went silent as the gang around her moved back. Had the cops arrived?

With a grunt of pain, she pushed herself to her feet and retreated to defend the tree. Her eyes were blurred with tears, and she roughly wiped her hand over her face. What was everyone looking at?

Oh. My.

DeVries faced the gangbangers, and she recognized his cold, cold expression. He’d looked at her that way.

Around him, three of the mob were down—one with an obviously broken arm. The rest of the hoods were inching sideways. Away.

He didn’t even seem to notice as he prowled toward her. One fool swung at him. He caught the young man’s fist and yanked him forward far enough to slam an elbow into the tattooed face. The sound of the nose breaking barely preceded the wail of pain.

Like cockroaches under bright light, the gang fled in all directions.

DeVries hadn’t even spoken.

He stopped in front of her, plucked the knife from her hand. “Like that’d scare someone,” he said sarcastically. He closed and dropped it in her jeans pocket.

Feeling the trickle of blood running down her face, Lindsey swiped at it.

DeVries’s gaze settled on her fingers, his jaw tightening. “You have to be one of the stupidest people I know,” he said in a frozen tone. “Risking your life for a fucking—”

Her gratitude died—thankfully before she threw herself in his arms—and she turned away. Got to get Dakota. Leave before the gang returned. Grabbing a low branch, she tried to climb up, but her right hand was still half-numb from the blow to her wrist. Her fingers wouldn’t close. A whine of frustration escaped.

Hard hands closed on her shoulders and pulled her back. His eyes had gone more gray than green, piercing through her as he lifted her chin, turned her face from side to side, looking at what was probably a gash and bruise. Felt like it anyway, and God knew, she’d experienced far worse at the hands of the crooked border patrol agent, Ricks.

She tamped down her anger. DeVries had risked his life to save her, after all. Some gangs carried firearms. And knives. He could have been badly hurt. “I appreciate the help. Thank you.” She wrenched back and got nowhere.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fixin’ to get Dakota. You just let go of me now.”

A corner of his mouth tipped up, the ice leaving his gaze. “Your accent gets thick when you’re mad.”

She glared.

He gave a low chuckle. “Where’s the fucking cat? I’ll get it.”

“What cat? I’m fetching Dakota.” She pointed up in the tree, where the eight-year-old boy had his little arms wrapped around the trunk. He was crying silently.

“I’ll be damned.”

She’d never seen him startled before. What—he’d thought Dakota was a cat? When she started to laugh, his eyes narrowed into a cynical look.

“Makes more sense, except…you’d probably have done the same thing for a cat, wouldn’t you?”

Of course. She shrugged and winced at the pain.

“What I thought.” He pointed at the sidewalk. “Sit there while I recover your kid.”

Instead she looked up. “Dakota, this is…” She glanced at deVries. Would he kill her if she used his first name?

The dimple appeared beside his mouth. “Friends call me Zander.”

Well, maybe he could consider Dakota a friend, right? “This is Zander. He saved us, sweetie. Now he’s going to help you get down.” She frowned. “You be gentle with him or—”

“Or you’ll kick my ass, Texas?”

The affectionate half hug he gave her almost stopped her heart.

He swung easily up into the tree. Before he reached Dakota, he paused, and she could hear the rumble of his voice.

After a few seconds, the boy offered a wavering smile and let deVries haul him into his arms.

While they were occupied with climbing down, she used the bottom of her T-shirt to clean her face of blood and tears.

After deVries was down, she pulled Dakota into a hug. Tremors still shook his skinny frame. But he was safe. “Let’s get you home, honeybunches.”

He clung to her hand on the silent walk back to the apartment building, and she noticed with a stab of the heart that when deVries walked too far away, Dakota tucked his fingertips into the man’s jeans pocket, keeping him close.

DeVries didn’t say a word.

They met Dakota’s frantic mother running out of the lobby, trailed by Dakota’s sister. They all walked upstairs together. DeVries stayed in the hall while Lindsey went into Dakota’s apartment to finish explaining to his mama what had happened—and how dangerous it was.

When she emerged, she looked around, hoping deVries had gotten bored and left.

He was still there, waiting silently by her door.

Oh. Damn. She was too tired to fight with him or answer his snoopy questions. Yes, he deserved a thanks—and it was going to be delivered in the hallway.

“Thank you again,” she said, trying for warm and cool both. “Now, did you come here for a reason?”

“Yeah.” He touched her chin with a light finger. “And we’ll talk once you’re cleaned up.”

“My face will keep. What did you need?”

He held his hand out. “Keys.”

“You are such a butthead,” she muttered and heard him snort. After digging her keys out of her pocket, she slapped them in his palm.

As if escorting her home from a dance, he unlocked her door, put his arm behind her back, and guided her into her apartment. “You got antibiotic ointment?”

He was past stubborn. “I can tend myself, thanks.”

“Where is it?”

She huffed in exasperation. When Abby and Rona had complained about their annoyingly overprotective Doms, Lindsey had only felt envy. Now she was beginning to comprehend their feelings on the subject. “Bathroom.”

“Good.” He herded her like a cattle dog into her tiny bath, sat her on the toilet seat, and tipped her face up. Anger tightened his jaw as he studied the damage. “Caught yourself a good one,” he said, the concern not concealing the steel beneath.

She scowled. She hadn’t rolled belly up like a coward. With Ricks, she hadn’t had a chance to fight; this time she’d done better. “I gave some good ones back.”

The approving glint in his eyes was unexpected and made her heart jump inside her chest. “I saw that, baby. You’ve got a nice right hook.”