Chapter 79

Richie glanced at the end stage, expecting to see Elena there dancing as she had been most of the night. He did a quick scan of the crowd and then to the bar, but didn’t spot her little purple self. Frowning he flipped the acoustic off his lap and signaled to Everett that he’d be back.

Hopping off the stage he looked around one more time, trying to stuff down the uneasy feeling that was slowly churning in his gut. She probably just went to the bathroom that was all. He rubbed at the sudden ache in his chest and headed toward the flickering neon sign for the bathrooms.

The crowd was starting to thin out as the band was well into the final set of the night. He heard the whimpers before he saw a man pushing a woman against a wall. He averted his eyes, not wanting to catch someone in an intimate moment. Hell, he’d nearly done the same thing with Elena just an hour ago.

But the flash of purple and the hiccupping cry drew him back. Moving further into the hallway he grabbed onto the wall. Dear God, no. Bile rose in his throat, his knees nearly crumbling when he saw the mascara tracks of tears run down the cheek of his wife.

He didn’t remember running down the hall, but the bellow of rage would forever be locked in his brain. He dragged the man off Elena and lifted him six inches off the ground with his forearm. Richie's fist drilled into the man's face and low into his abdomen. He saw the rapidly softening cock hanging out of his jeans and saw red. “No!” Not his Elena, not…

Richie's fist smashed into the man’s face again and again, blood spurting across his cheek but he still couldn’t stop.

She slumped to the floor, her hiccupping cries echoing in the hall as she wrapped her arms around herself. She rocked slowly, paying no heed to what had pulled the thing away from her, only knowing it had stopped. It stopped, swirled through her brain as she hiccupped through another sob. Her brain kept whirling through the last few minutes as her whimpers shifted to full fledged moans. She could still feel his hands on her skin.

She whimpered Richie's name, as if it would magically bring him to her. The shaking began to race along each nerve until her system was completely overwhelmed. "Richieeeeeeee!" Her voice was nearly non existent, her throat too tight to make sounds, the sound husky and rough with her tears. The terror inside of her reached deep, keeping her from moving out of the tight little ball she’d curled into for safety. To move meant he might start up again, might finish what he’d started.

She ran a shaky hand over her face, the sobs just wouldn’t stop, her voice broken and shattered as she whispered for Richie. As the seconds ticked by and the creep didn't reappear, she found the courage to open her eyes. Please be gone, please…

All she could hope for was that he’d passed out. Maybe he’d just left. He wasn't just waiting for her to open her eyes so he could hurt her again. Was he?

Shock and disbelief registered first. Some man was pounding the immortal ever loving shit out of the creep that had just tried his best to... Her mind skittered away from using the *R* word. No, can't go there, can't think on that now. Her eyes widened as the clothing finally began to sink in. Tight blue jeans and a filmy white shirt, dark silky black hair flying, but it was the roars of pure rage echoing from a mouth that usually had only sweet words to say that really dragged her back.

RICHIE!!

He’d found her, he was her savior, and he was damn near trying his best to kill the man.

Well he deserved killing dammit! She curled back into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. He tried to...he’d tried…a choked sob bubbled up. He deserved to fucking die.

Pulling herself up she considered letting her husband rid the world of this piece of scum. It wouldn’t be a loss. In fact, it would probably save another woman from the hurt of…she squeezed her eyes shut. The world was better off. She tried to convince herself that it was true, but a soft voice kept nagging at her. Those beautiful hands were only meant to create. Not to kill, not to kill even this man. Pushing herself up from the floor, she stood and wavered a moment before pulling strength she didn’t know she had forward. Reaching out she grabbed for Richie’s arm.

“Richie,” her voice cracked as she called to him one last time. "Richie,” she gasped. “Baby, stop.” She sobbed, “Please God, stop."

He barely heard her through the rage. The connection of his fist to the face of her attacker wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He'd kill him. As sure as the sun would shine the next morning he was going to kill him.

"Man, I wasn't doin' nuthin' wrong. She wanted it," the man croaked out.

Richie finally heard his wife's pleas through the haze of bloodlust. He looked at the nearly unrecognizable face of the man dangling from his forearm. The scumbag was scratching at his arm, blood matting the fucker's fingernails as he tried to get away.

He turned to Elena, her face was ghost pale and her eyes wide with shock and fear. "Lains," he said on a shaky breath and let the man drop into a pile at their feet.

Her cheek was scratched and bleeding and her shirt was torn. Her beautiful doe eyes had lost their sparkle and had been replaced with a fear that ate at his gut. He dragged her in. "Elena," he said on a shaky breath. He curled his arms around her saying her name again and again.

"She wanted it," came the muffled reply of the man on the floor. "I swear it, man."

She reached for Richie, nearly falling against him as the trembling started again. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, soft sobs beginning again as tears raced along her pale cheeks. "Richie." It was all she could manage to say, it was all she could see. He was there, he'd make the bad go away.

The man on the floor started to slide away, crawling toward the exit. Richie moved to follow him, to drag him back. He wasn’t done with him, not by a long shot. He ached for blood, to hear the man’s bones break beneath his hands, but Elena's arms wrapped around him completely. "Baby, he's going to get away. I want him to be punished for what-" he choked on the thought. "He r-r--" he took a deep breath. "I have to..." his voice cracked as he held onto her.

Her soft whimpers faded as his arms wrapped around her. "No,” She held him harder, the strength of his shoulders anchoring her. “No, don't leave me, please don't leave me." Just the thought of him walking off had her shaking like a willow tree in a storm. "He," She stuttered over the words, “He didn't manage,” she swallowed against the fear bubbling up again. She had to get out of this place, now, before the scent of the man and hallway consumed her. “Just get me outta here. Please God don’t leave me here!" Her words were soft, but she could feel the panic there, so close to the surface. Her gaze skittered up to his shattered dark eyes. She didn’t need anything but him. Not now, not ever. "Please, love."

He watched helplessly as the man stood and disappeared into the crowd. Dark, curly hair faded into the crush of people enjoying the last dance. His arms gripped her tighter as the words sunk in. Did she really say he hadn't? Had he been in time? "He didn't?"

Shivers wracked her body as flashes of memory threatened. Shutting her eyes against the torrent of fear, she held him even tighter. "He didn't get a chance…” She bit back a sob. “He just," She looked into his eyes and reached a hand to touch his face, "Was gropey. Hands and fingers,” she growled, shaking her head. “Hands where only yours should be.” When she saw the pain in his eyes she leaned up, her hands cupping his cheeks as her thumbs brushed away the tears tracking silently down his face. “He didn't get to finish.” She drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to stop the shudders. He needed to know that he’d been in time. She could see it, feel it, hell almost taste his need to believe. “You saved me Pony. You SAVED me!"

Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed her face into his chest as the tears came. "You saved me."

The images exploded into his mind and he gentled his embrace. God, the bastard had hurt her. He could still see the press of the smaller man against her. The piece of trash was just a little taller than his wife, his wiry body pinning her as if she wasn’t any stronger than a child.

His hands under her skirt…God, no!

His gut was on fire with the need for blood. He wanted to find him and kill him. Even if he hadn't managed to ra- He shied away from the word even now that he knew it hadn't happened. Or had it? "Lains, I can take it if he did. We'll get through it. I'll get you the best help I can buy. I'll take you to any hospital." He sniffed and pressed a kiss to her temple. "You can tell me." He saw the small, pink dick in his mind. The jeans open.

Her skirt lifted…

He closed his eyes and hugged her close. Not his Elena. Not his sweet Elena.

His soothing words were like a balm to her troubled sea of a soul. "He didn't Pony, I swear, just his hands, just his," her voice cracked. It was enough. The thought of those nasty hands on her…inside of her. She felt the tremors start again, but she forced herself to look Richie in the eyes. "He didn't finish, honest." She buried her face in his neck, dragging in the musky richness of him as she held tighter. "Just take me home. Make me forget. It’s over,” she gasped. “It’s over…just make it over."

He could hear the hysteria starting to build in her voice. He wanted her home, wanted her close and alone with him when she broke. He gathered her in and fussed with her skirt to make sure she was covered. "Okay, love. I'll get you home." He pressed a lingering kiss at her temple. "Just hang on to me," he said and scooped her up in his arms. He didn't care if it looked crazy or stupid. He would get her out of there and having her in his arms...he fought back the rage. It helped to have her close.

She kept her face pressed close to his neck, his hair. The soft sobs broken by deep inhales as she tried to pull his scent in. The hallway stench, the man’s skin all needed to be gone, eradicated by his clean scent. The ocean and coco butter, musk and Richie. The walk through the bar was a blur. The confusion on Rett’s face was merely a peripheral thing. All she could do was concentrate on the strong arms around her and that spicy, earthy scent that told her she was safe.

He didn't even remember what he said to Everett, but somehow they'd managed to make it out of the bar. He held her tight as he flagged down one of the gypsy cabs that he'd always been warned against. He didn't care what he had to pay. He needed to get her back to the beach house. He needed her safe.

"Where to, mon?" The taxi driver’s voice was friendly, almost bright in this dark moment.

Richie rattled of their address. "There's an extra twenty in it for you if you do it quickly and quietly," Richie said with a rough edge to his voice.

"Will do," the man said and stepped on it.

Curling her onto his lap, he didn't let go as the beach and the quaint village sped by.

She curled tighter to his body and tried to stop the shakes, tried to stop the tears and be strong. How could she have not stopped him? She had the defense training, how had he managed to get her pinned? Her mind kept whirling in circles as the whimpers faded in and out. The only thing keeping her from total hysteria was the strong arms around her and the softly whispered murmurs telling her it was ok. He'd get her home, he'd help her forget. Things would be ok.