Claiming Serenity(49)

“You hit me! That’s assault.” Walter reached for his cuffs, the only equipment he had that made him look even remotely like a real officer and Layla laughed at him, at how graceless his movements had become and how serious he seemed about cuffing her.

“We aren’t on campus and I didn’t just get a parking violation. You think you’re gonna cuff me?” Both Layla and Sayo jerked out of Walter’s grip when he grabbed for her.

And then, there came disaster. Or a demon, depending on Layla’s mood.

“Layla?”

“Awesome. Just perfect.” Layla rolled her eyes at Sayo when that giddy gleam made her black eyes shine. Sayo always did love to watch a nasty fight.

Donovan had come too late if he’d meant to play hero. Walter was already bleeding, was seething mad as his attempts to grab Layla had failed. But Donovan jogged toward them nevertheless, and stood between Layla and Walter as though he intended to buffer any more of Walter’s threats.

“Is he bothering you?” Donovan asked over his shoulder as he held his arms at his side and his fists white knuckle tight.

“Perpetually, but I popped him.”

“You… you mind your own business, Donley.” It was hard not to laugh at Walter’s threat, especially when his words were muffled by blood and what was probably a clogged and swelling nose.

Donovan stepped up to Walter, stretched his shoulders and they seemed larger, broader, some weird technique all men must be taught when they are punks angling to learn the best way to look like a mean asshole. “Oh, I am minding what’s mine, motherfucker. Back off.”

Layla didn’t have time to really register what Donovan had said. Flippantly, she understood that it was all talk, that he was trying to rile Walter so he’d make a move. She dismissed how possessive he sounded just then and tried not to think about how his words had made her stomach twist and kindled a goofy warmth of pleasure in her chest.

Walter hesitated for just a moment, and then his temper broke. He wiped blood from his nose and rushed Donovan just as Sayo pulled Layla away from them, not letting her step in to stop the fight before it started. The two men commenced in throwing punches at each other, lunging and pushing each other around the sidewalk, and up against McKinney’s large front window.

And because Cavanagh was tiny and the testosterone epidemic on the squad and among the male student body had never been eradicated, the crowd around them grew to obscene levels, made up mostly of antagonizing, eager men who offered advice through their grunts and pleased growls to both Donovan and Walter.

“Dude. Two guys are fighting over you,” Sayo whispered and despite the stupidity of it all, and that base, ridiculous voice in Layla’s head telling her this was like, so very hot, damn, Layla laughed.

Walter, surprisingly, managed to clock Donovan once on the chin, sending him stumbling backward and Layla yelped when he fell against the brick wall and scraped his face on it.

“Oh, that’s it, asshole,” he told Walter, walking toward him slow and confident as he spat once on the ground, flinging the blood from his face. That small spot of red on the sidewalk did something to Donovan; something wild and primeval moved into his eyes and he charged Walter, who barely managed to get his hands up before Donovan hit him, twice on the chin and once on Walter’s already swollen nose.

It had lasted barely two minutes and already Walter was on the ground, covering his nose, wailing and hyperventilating, before Donovan squatted next to him and jerked him into a sitting position by his collar.

“See that woman, Rent-a-Cop?” When Walter didn’t respond quickly enough, Donovan yanked his collar again, forcing a nod from the downed man. “She’s off limits to you. You see her on campus, in town, any fucking where and you so much as look in her direction, I will fucking end you. You feel me?”

“Fine,” Walter said, though it came out as “finb.” And then, “Whatever.”

Donovan stood, his body lithe and tense, looking like he wanted to kick Walter just to take that pouty look off his face, but Layla stopped him, pulling on his wrist.

“He’s not worth it, Donovan.”

He jerked back from her and she retreated, pulled her hand off his arm when she spotted that his lethal anger had not yet abated, and saw the blood along his cheek and on his knuckles. She sighed, remembering herself, not really eager to let Donovan see her worry. “You okay?” Donovan didn’t speak, seemed unable to do much more than stare at her, heaving, still jacked up. Then a comprehension came to him, and something like chagrin spread over his features, like he couldn’t believe he’d come to her defense.