ground in a heap, as if he’d been shot. She saw one of his feet twitching convulsively.
Now the other man, the one who’d been staring at her with his dark eyes, was attacking, vicious and frightening in his strength. He collided with Bryson and began throwing a series of wild punches. Scarlett ran forward, fearful that he would overwhelm Bryson with his ferocity. She tried to grab the man from behind.
That, she learned, was a big mistake, as his arm went back for another swing and his elbow connected solidly with her cheekbone.
As she flew backwards, she was seeing spots. A moment later, Scarlett’s body met the ground in a bone jarring, teeth-rattling collision.
Everything in her was jumbled, and her head snapped back, nearly hitting the cement. Luckily, the backpack cushioned some of the blow. Still, she was disoriented for more than a few seconds, as the shock of the attack reverberated through her.
When she could focus again, she saw Bryson pummeling the second attacker to the ground. His punches landed with dull, heavy thudding sounds as he smashed the man’s face with his fists. Soon, the second mugger was lying prone, staring up at the sky, almost as if he was dead.
“Scarlett,” Bryson said, turning and seeing her, his face registering surprise. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, struggling to get up.
Bryson ran to her and helped her to her feet. When he saw her face more closely, his eyes widened. “Your cheek! You’re cut!”
“I am?” She reached up and touched her face, finding that the skin had split open, and it was painful, stinging and burning. Her fingers came away with bright blood on them. “Is it bad?” she asked.
“Not too bad,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to get you home.” As he walked to where the two attempted muggers were still lying on the ground, Bryson grew suddenly furious again. “I told you what I’d do if you hurt her,” he said. Then he picked up the dark eyed man, lifted him off the ground by the front of his coat, and hit him directly in the mouth. His bottom lip split open, and a tooth went flying.
“Please, don’t hit me no more,” the guy begged.
Bryson dropped him back to the ground.
The man who’d been knocked out by one punch in the beginning of the altercation was slowly coming to, sitting up now, but still dazed. Neither of them wanted any part of Bryson after the beating he’d given them. So Bryson simply bent down, picked up the case of water, and started to walk once more.
***
Eventually, they’d gotten home in one piece, relieved but still shaken from the events of the day.
“Sit down,” Bryson said, as he took the backpack from her and ushered her to the living room.
“Oh, thank God,” Scarlett gasped, rubbing her sore shoulders that were finally free of that weight she’d been carrying for blocks and blocks and then up the flights of stairs to his apartment.
Bryson ran to the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. “I told you to sit.”
“Okay, okay, relax—I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re hurt.”
She smiled at his concern, and sat down on the couch as he dabbed gently at the wound on her cheek. Scarlett looked at him, still soaking wet in his coat, water dripping from his hair as he ministered to her bloody cheek.
“Do I need stitches, doc?” she joked.
“It’s not funny.” He pressed the washcloth against her cheek again, and this time she winced a little.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to clean it so I can get a better look at the damage.”
Scarlett looked at Bryson’s face, and it dawned on her that he wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape himself. He had a long scratch down his neck and his right eye was developing a real shiner. “You’re pretty banged up yourself, there, Mike Tyson,” she said.
“I am?”
“Yeah. You must’ve got clocked pretty good.”
He sighed. “I guess it’s to be expected when you fight two jackasses at the same
Now the other man, the one who’d been staring at her with his dark eyes, was attacking, vicious and frightening in his strength. He collided with Bryson and began throwing a series of wild punches. Scarlett ran forward, fearful that he would overwhelm Bryson with his ferocity. She tried to grab the man from behind.
That, she learned, was a big mistake, as his arm went back for another swing and his elbow connected solidly with her cheekbone.
As she flew backwards, she was seeing spots. A moment later, Scarlett’s body met the ground in a bone jarring, teeth-rattling collision.
Everything in her was jumbled, and her head snapped back, nearly hitting the cement. Luckily, the backpack cushioned some of the blow. Still, she was disoriented for more than a few seconds, as the shock of the attack reverberated through her.
When she could focus again, she saw Bryson pummeling the second attacker to the ground. His punches landed with dull, heavy thudding sounds as he smashed the man’s face with his fists. Soon, the second mugger was lying prone, staring up at the sky, almost as if he was dead.
“Scarlett,” Bryson said, turning and seeing her, his face registering surprise. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, struggling to get up.
Bryson ran to her and helped her to her feet. When he saw her face more closely, his eyes widened. “Your cheek! You’re cut!”
“I am?” She reached up and touched her face, finding that the skin had split open, and it was painful, stinging and burning. Her fingers came away with bright blood on them. “Is it bad?” she asked.
“Not too bad,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to get you home.” As he walked to where the two attempted muggers were still lying on the ground, Bryson grew suddenly furious again. “I told you what I’d do if you hurt her,” he said. Then he picked up the dark eyed man, lifted him off the ground by the front of his coat, and hit him directly in the mouth. His bottom lip split open, and a tooth went flying.
“Please, don’t hit me no more,” the guy begged.
Bryson dropped him back to the ground.
The man who’d been knocked out by one punch in the beginning of the altercation was slowly coming to, sitting up now, but still dazed. Neither of them wanted any part of Bryson after the beating he’d given them. So Bryson simply bent down, picked up the case of water, and started to walk once more.
***
Eventually, they’d gotten home in one piece, relieved but still shaken from the events of the day.
“Sit down,” Bryson said, as he took the backpack from her and ushered her to the living room.
“Oh, thank God,” Scarlett gasped, rubbing her sore shoulders that were finally free of that weight she’d been carrying for blocks and blocks and then up the flights of stairs to his apartment.
Bryson ran to the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. “I told you to sit.”
“Okay, okay, relax—I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re hurt.”
She smiled at his concern, and sat down on the couch as he dabbed gently at the wound on her cheek. Scarlett looked at him, still soaking wet in his coat, water dripping from his hair as he ministered to her bloody cheek.
“Do I need stitches, doc?” she joked.
“It’s not funny.” He pressed the washcloth against her cheek again, and this time she winced a little.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to clean it so I can get a better look at the damage.”
Scarlett looked at Bryson’s face, and it dawned on her that he wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape himself. He had a long scratch down his neck and his right eye was developing a real shiner. “You’re pretty banged up yourself, there, Mike Tyson,” she said.
“I am?”
“Yeah. You must’ve got clocked pretty good.”
He sighed. “I guess it’s to be expected when you fight two jackasses at the same
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