Mr. President 1(26)

“The ring, give it to me,” he growls, his eyes falling on the hideous ring on my finger. Seriously, I’m being mugged because of this stupid tacky thing?

“Fuck off,” I growl right back at the mugger while I reach inside my purse, trying to fish my mace from the inside. But, before I can do it, the man pulls a knife from inside his jacket. Oh, shit.

I look over his shoulder, but I can’t see the Secret Service SUV anywhere. Things aren’t looking good, but I’m not giving this asshole the ring. As tacky as the ring might be, I’m not in the custom of being robbed quietly.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I start screaming, and the mugger’s eyes widen in surprise. I half-expect him to turn on his heels and start running down the street but, instead, he pushes me against the wall next to me and brings the knife up to my neck. I feel the cold kiss of the blade against my neck and I hold my breath, my heart pumping adrenaline through my bloodstream.

I try and kick the bastard between the legs, but he just jumps back to avoid my feet, his knife still against my throat.

“Gimme the fuckin’ ring, you bitch!” he growls once more, but his voice is drowned by the sound of heavy engines coming up the road. I look over the man’s shoulder to see the presidential motorcade turning onto my block, a door in the president’s limo swinging open fast.

“The ring, bitch!” The man shouts again, but I don’t even hear what he’s saying. My eyes are focused on Austin, watching as he jumps out from the still rolling limo and starts running down the street, closing the distance between him and I.#p#分页标题#e#

The moment the mugger is within his reach, Austin just grabs him by the collar and yanks him back. The knife leaves my neck as Austin pulls the mugger away from me, and that happens because the bastard spins around fast and tries to stab Austin.

Sidestepping him, Austin grabs the man by the wrist and just turns it back harshly; the knife drops to the floor and, at the same time, the nauseating sound of bones breaking reaches my ears. Cocking his arm back, Austin then rams his fist into the mugger’s face, and a heartbeat later the man is laying on the ground unconscious, blood dripping down his broken nose.

“Are you okay, Ash?” Austin asks me, coming up to me and placing one hand on my face and the other on my waist. Only then do I realize that my hands are shaking.

“I—I think so,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over my neck, right on the spot where the blade was just a few seconds ago.

“Sir! Are you okay?” A small army of Secret Service agents comes up to us, and they quickly form a perimeter around Austin and I.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Austin tells them casually, waving his hand around. He jumped out of his limo so fast that the Secret Service didn’t have any time to catch up. A man of action, that much is true.

With both his hands on my shoulders, Austin lets his eyes roam up and down my body, trying to check if I’m hurt. As he’s doing it, a few cop cars park close to the presidential limo, and the police hauls the unconscious man up to his feet and then drag him inside one of the cars. The man just made an attempt on a sitting president; I guess it’s going to take a while before he’s out on the streets again.

Parking just before the police cars, a few dozen vans from the local press show up in a flash. They were probably following the motorcade, and they were drawn here by the sudden stop. The Secret Service didn’t have enough time to set a big perimeter, so it doesn’t take much time before Austin and I are huddled together inside a small circle of agents in black suits, a crowd of reporters shouting questions in quick succession.

“Ashley, did you --”

“Mr. President, can you give us a comment?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Did you knock out that man, Mr. President?”

The questions are so many, and they’re coming so fast, that all I can hear is an angry buzz, almost as if the reporters have turned into a swarm of wasps. Running one hand through my hair, I take a deep breath and think of what my next words are going to be. This is an excellent opportunity to show the White House that the millions they’re paying me are well worth it.

“Thank you for your concern, everyone,” I say, raising my voice and looking at the reporters with a smile. “If it weren’t for Austin, I have no idea what might have happened. Just goes to show that he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be tough on crime,” I chuckle softly, grabbing Austin by the arm and pulling him into me. I look at him with a growing smile, hoping that some journalist will snap a picture of my loving look toward the President. Only then do I realize that I don’t need to pretend that I feel thankful toward Austin… He saved me, he protected me, and I’m truly grateful for it. Because, just like I told the reporters, I have no idea what might have happened.