Page 61 of Down in Flames

The look on Michael’s face was horrible. His complexion was ashen, nostrils flared and eyes wide with rage and terror. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was seconds away from ripping out Sutter’s spine and beating him to death with it. He was trembling; West could see it in the way his legs were braced.

But he’d stopped. He stood there, quivering, dying in his need to rush in and save the day. A cord in his neck bulged as if he were physically fighting to hold himself back. For a split second, West met and held his gaze, wishing he could spare him from his pain.

Sutter took advantage of his distraction and clocked him hard in the temple.

Michael didn’t move.

West’s ears were ringing, but he was on top of Sutter now. He didn’t have the body weight to keep him pinned, but he used his leverage, jamming his knees beneath Sutter’s armpits and locking him in to hit him again—and again.

His breath whistled in and out of his lungs like he was breathing through a broken straw, and all he tasted was blood.

But his heart was steady as a fucking rock.

The back door of the bar slammed open, and a sudden rush of people poured into the parking lot. Too many of them, all shouting at once in a wordless drone. All except for Eli, whose voice rose above the crowd.

“Break it up!”

“West—West!” Arms came around his waist, hauling him backward, and for a second he thought it was Michael. But it was wrong: the smell, the feel, the way his skin didn’t sizzle like he’d touched lightning.

Cal lifted him with all the strength in his wiry body. Sutter came after them, sloppy with blood and spit, only to slam into the sheriff. His beer gut and flab were no match for more than six feet of solid muscle, and Eli had him on the ground in an instant.

“He was the one hitting me!” Sutter raged, thrashing beneath Eli’s knee as it pinned him down. “You queers all stick together!”

“Pete installed cameras in the parking lot last year, dumbass!” Cal shouted. “The screen is right over the fucking bar!”

“I’ve got this, baby,” Eli said with a touch of fondness. “Backup is already on the way.”

For the first time, West became aware of sirens whining in the distance.

“Do you need medical attention?” Eli asked, barely audible over Sutter’s snarls.

“I don’t need a fucking doctor! I want a lawyer! I’m not answering another goddamn thing until I get one!” Sutter was nearly frothing at the mouth, and his bloodshot eyes looked past West, through the audience, until they locked onto Michael. His expression was full of loathing, and he spat, “There’s no room in this town for your touchy-feely new cowboy bullshit. Now you know! If you keep playing with fire, you’ll watch your whole life burn.”

“That a threat?” West asked, shaking off the tight grip Cal had on his shoulders.

“Sounded like a confession,” Cal said grimly.

Michael didn’t reply. He didn’t move. Not even to glance in Sutter’s direction. He’d frozen in place, eyes glued on West, like he was afraid to set himself loose again.

“West?” Eli asked over his shoulder. “You need an ambulance?”

“No.” West deliberately spit blood into the dirt and locked eyes with Sutter. His voice quivered, but it wasn’t fear. It was rage. He wasn’t scared of this piece of garbage, and he didn’t need anyone coming to his rescue. This time, Michael was the one who needed him. “I’m pressing charges.”

“For a bar fight?” Sutter scoffed.

“Try assault, genius.” He took a step, but Eli’s warning look made him think twice. Crouching down on his haunches, he waited until he had Sutter’s full attention and said, “Maybe you got away with arson, but I’ll make damn sure you go down for being a hateful bigot.”

“West…” The agonized rasp in Michael’s voice tugged at him. It sounded like he was one frayed thread away from losing control. His head was bent, hands fisted at his sides so hard that the veins in his forearms bulged.

West went to him. Without hesitation, he walked right into his arms. Michael needed him. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Michael’s arms came around him hard, yanking him close and folding his larger frame around him like he could shelter him from the world. West’s nose was still bleeding, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist and squeezed, hugging him as hard as he could, damn near holding him up as Michael buried his face in his neck.

“It’s okay,” West whispered, threading his fingers through his hair and cradling his head. “I’m okay. I didn’t need to be saved.”

“Dear God, don’t make me do that again,” Michael gasped, crushing him in his arms and kissing his neck, his hair, his battered face. “I can’t lose you.”

West’s eyes stung, but he managed a wobbly smile when he promised, “You won’t.”