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shards. A triangle of glass jutted from her left eye. |
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Lynn grabbed John's sleeve and yelled 'Don't!' as he lunged from the booth and a fat bald man, shiny black, leaned through the broken window and caved in the woman's forehead with a tire iron. John pulled free. He didn't bother to dodge Steve, who was leaning out and starting to rise. He shouldered him out of the way, rushed past the empty bench and table, clutched Cassy's arm and tugged her from the booth. She came up brushing against him, gasping warm breath against his face. |
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The man in the window grabbed a handful of Mrs Benton's hair and dragged her limp body toward him. |
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At least he's not coming in, John thought. |
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Taking her. Taking her out with him. |
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John swung Cassy away. He sprang onto the cushioned bench. It was soft and springy under his shoes. He took only one step before the man hurled the tire iron at him, sidearm. He shot up a hand to block it. The bar struck his wrist. Instead of bouncing away, it took a quick flip around his wrist and smashed him across the brow. |
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A strobe flashed behind his eyes. |
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He fought to stay on his feet. |
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It didn't matter that the woman was probably dead. Didn't matter much, anyway. Dead or not, John didn't want the bastard to take her. |
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He brought up his knife hand. The knife seemed to be missing. He stared at his empty hand. He was sure he'd had the knife a second ago. |
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