Peter tensed up with each step closer they took. I glanced at him,

  "Friends of yours?"

  He didn't answer. He looked like he was in defensive mode, ready to counterattack. One of the men, a tall guy whose head looked a little too small for his build, stopped a few feet away from the other two and gave a humorless laugh,

  "Well, well. Look what we found."

  I wasn't sure if it was curiosity or fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, but it made me ask,

  "What's going on?" I said as I took one step forward.

  "Tara, get back!" Peter placed himself in front of me, which hindered me from going onward.

  "You should leave," he warned the men even though he clearly had no upper hand here.

  The bald-headed one, standing beside the tall guy, ignored Peter and stared at me instead.

  "You bring your girlfriend to work with you now, Menace?"

  Work? What were they on about? The third man standing furthest from us, cracked his knuckles.

  "You know your family's been making a lot of enemies lately," he stated.

  He didn't seem surprised by what he said, as if he knew exactly what he meant. Peter's voice dropped a few semitones as he said,

  "This has nothing to do with her."

  "Oh, it has everything to do with you," The first man explained.

  I didn't get enough time to process the situation before one of them ambushed him, his fist connected with Peter's chiseled chin. It led to him staggering but he didn't fall to the floor. The other two jumped in, one blow after the other, hitting his torso, at one point I even saw a punch connect to his jaw.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  "Stop it! Leave him alone!" I yelled. Knowing there was nothing I could have possibly done because I had the strength of a rat in a mouse trap.

  "Stay back!" Peter pleaded with me as if he was afraid that I would get hurt.

  Another punch hit his ribs. Then another. The men didn't fight fair but that didn't stop Peter. He landed a punch that sent one of them stumbling, but the numbers still weren't on his side. Mid-punch, the tall one stopped. He looked at me as if he had seen a ghost.

  "Hold up, wait—?"

  "What?" the bald man looked just as confused as me as he replied.

  He had a smug look on his face as if he had made a revelation.

  "Well, this is rich."

  Peter froze as if he knew what he was referencing.

  "Don't," he warned.

  "Oh," still staring at me as he said it, "She doesn't—."

  I felt a pit in my stomach, what was he on about and why did Peter look so afraid. I inquired,

  "What?"

  The man attempted to further clarify,

  "What? I'm saying—"

  Though battered and bruised, Peter took a step forward and said,

  "Walk away," the gentle whisper he spoke was at odds with the threat he gave even I felt a shiver up my spine.

  There was a brief moment where they hesitated, as if they were deciding whether to proceed with caution or keep playing their hand but in the end they retreated. I think part of them knew his father was not one to mess with. The tall one chuckled jokingly,

  "Relax, Menace, I'm just playing."

  He motioned a signal to the others as if telling them to cease fire. One by one they slowly backed off and headed back outside. For a moment, they disappeared into a blink spot. They were out of sight, no possible way for us to see them from our point of view, but a few minutes later, we saw them climb back into their sedan and within seconds all you could hear was the screeching of the tires against the cracked and uneven, forgotten road.

  The silence returned when they left, all that was there, was the drum-line of the rain beating on the ceiling and the crashes of thunder in the sky.

  I looked back to see Peter hunched over, blood dripping from the edge of his mouth so much that he spattered. I hastened over there and sat him down on the old metal chair situated right behind him and knelt beside him, my voice unsteady when I said,

  "You're bleeding!"

  He tried his best to keep his bad boy persona up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled as he stated,

  "I've had worse."

  "What was that about?"

  He looked like he honestly answered,

  "Retaliation, you know my reputation, don't you?They were trying to send a message."

  Trying to lighten the mood I joked,

  "Well, the message sucked!"

  He laughed but it was strained, both hands covering his ribcage announced to me that it hurt.

  "And, what was that about earlier, when he was looking at me all crazy?"

  "Who knows, I thought the psycho wanted to rape you or something?" his response didn't feel authentic but what reason could he have to lie.

  So, I didn't press him about it anymore and said,

  "Yeah, you're probably right."