Nico Rosso - Renegade Protector

“Back off.” She forced her voice into a command and jammed her hand in her purse for a canister of pepper spray.

“You back off,” a deep voice growled. A hand swung out and slapped the purse from her grip. “Back off your store. Back off your land. Back off this whole county.” Shadows erased the details of this man, but she fully understood the threatening step he took toward her.

“I know who sent you.” It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the Hanley Group was behind this. A few months ago, they’d reached out to buy her orchard and land. She’d refused. Then the goons started showing up.

The man sneered. “I doubt it.”

Her muscles tensed. Words hadn’t been enough to end this. Balling her fists, she tried to control her breathing. Panic would only make her an easier target. Until this moment, none of these threats had been overtly physical. The rules suddenly changed, though, and she had no idea what it would take to make it through this night. The man moved forward again, shadowy arms upraised. She had to fight.

All her fury at being bullied, being afraid, feeling helpless, was released in a punch toward his throat. The man turned at the last instant and her knuckles glanced off the top of his hard chest, then found the side of his neck. He flinched to the side. The impact jarred up her arm and threw her off balance.

The man recovered quickly and lunged, barking, “You little—”

She ducked her head beneath her arms and braced for the impact. Two bodies slammed together with a loud grunt, but she was untouched. Her attacker and someone else thumped into the side of her truck, rocking its squeaky suspension. The new man was equally obscured in the darkness. Maybe he was local police. Her ex, Pete, was one of them, and still came around sometimes. But the police always identified themselves first.

The only things the new man spoke with were his fists. He drove them with brutal efficiency into the attacker. Rough, pained wheezes answered that the new man knew what he was doing. While she was in the clear, she dived to the ground in search of her purse. Her attacker might be armed, and she needed any advantage she could get. The idea of the new man getting injured while helping her boiled her blood. She found the purse strap and dragged the bag to her. The fight continued next to the truck. The new man was knocked to the side, then sprang back with a knee into the first attacker.

The brutality shook her. The fights she’d seen at the local saloon were drunken and sloppy. This was high stakes, between two people who knew what they were doing. And if it went on too long, one of them would die.

Her hand finally wrapped around the canister of pepper spray. She crouched low, released the safety and pointed it out ahead of her, toward the men. Their shadowed shapes continued to struggle, each trying to get the upper hand as they slammed each other into the side of her truck. If she released the spray now, she’d hit them both.

At least it would end the fight. She tightened her thumb on the trigger.

A car suddenly screeched into the parking lot. Headlights blinded her. Maybe now the police were showing up. But there were no sirens. The engine sped closer and did not slow. Her vision cleared enough to see the two fighting men. One of them was the black man who’d been in her store. The other man she didn’t recognize. He was white, with a shaved head and a mean scowl.

Their melee paused in the light of the oncoming car. With a quick shove, the black man separated himself from the other man, then dived toward her. He wore a thick denim jacket, yet she felt how muscular the arms were that surrounded her. She and the man tumbled to the side, his body taking the brunt of the impact on the asphalt. He remained wrapped around her as they rolled out of the way of the speeding car. It screeched to a stop between them and the first attacker. The bald man jumped into the back seat, and the car peeled off again with the smell of burning rubber and engine oil.

The car was quickly out of the parking lot, then turned up a side street, leaving Mariana in the dark again. With a stranger clutching her to his chest.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was deep and smoky.

She assessed her body quickly. Bruised, definitely, but nothing broken or bleeding. “I’m fine.”

With athletic grace, he separated from her and stood. She took his outstretched hand for balance, but hesitated before getting to her feet. The touch of their skin reminded her of the quiet connection she’d thought they’d shared in her store when their eyes met. It had brought on a blush before, and now it shot fire through her veins. But that might be the adrenaline from the fight and nearly getting run over.

She rose and released his hand so she could brush the gravel from her palms. The prickles of pain brought the fear and danger crashing back into her.

“I’m fine,” she said again and dragged her foot across the ground, searching for the pepper spray she hadn’t been aware of dropping. Anger tightened her throat. “I’m not fine.” She fired the words in the direction the car had disappeared. “I’m pissed.” She toed the pepper spray and picked it up, glad to be armed again. “I’m tired of being leaned on, threatened, attacked...” Both the languages she spoke ran through her head in an attempt to explain why she was shaking. “ Solo estoy cansado. I’m just tired. I don’t know who you are, but saying thanks doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He took a step forward, as if to speak, but she continued, “You did an amazing thing.”

“My name is Tyler Morrison.” He maintained a distance and spoke calmly. “Call me Ty.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Ty.” She wished there was some light to examine his face. “I’m just going to disappear now and find a life where I’m not in someone’s crosshairs.” If she could find her purse, she could get her keys and drive home to dig up all the paperwork to transfer the deed of her orchard to the Hanley Group and they could stop ruining her life. “I’m fine, and you can go back to your vacation or road trip or whatever it is that brought you to Rodrigo, California.”

He spoke evenly. “I’m here for you, Mariana Balducci.”

Danger immediately clutched her again. She held her pepper spray and got ready to run. “What the hell does that mean?”

A pool of light flicked across the ground. Ty held a small flashlight on a key chain. She was able to make out the shape of his nose and serious mouth, but his dark eyes remained unreadable. The light landed on her purse and remained there. Neither she nor Ty moved.

Adrenaline continued to rack her body, amplified each second he didn’t answer her question. She raised the pepper spray higher in her fist. “Explain,” she demanded.

He nodded easily. “In exchange for me helping you out just now, you can do something for me.”

“So this whole attack was a setup for you to show up, play hero, then get something in return.” For months there’d been threatening phone calls, unexpected letters and unwelcome presences in her store. And here was another man thinking he could push her around.

“This was no game. Those guys were dead serious.” Ty shook his head, and the light glinted off his eyes, revealing their depth. “Here’s what you can do for me—stay.”

She squinted at him, trying to piece together his meaning.

“Make a stand,” he continued with a passionate fire growing in his voice. “Fight back.”

She barked an incredulous laugh. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I’m down to my last twelve dollars, my last hour of sleep and my last nerve. Looks to me like the best way to stay alive is to sell out.”

“You’re not alone in this fight.” His jaw was set.