“You should watch your back. I heard that Shawn and Jackson are looking for you and Bubba.”
Jake smirked. “Let them find me.”
I frowned, but it was Archie who asked, “Why the fuck are they looking for you?”
With a shrug, Jake said, “‘Cause we called the fucks out for their behavior. They’re friends of Mitch’s.”
At the mention of that asshole’s name, I scowled. Really not who I wanted to discuss at a party, unless it was funeral plans so I could go piss on his grave.
Greg made a face and shook his head. “Yeah, just watch your back.” Greg gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Not all of us are dicks.”
“Just a little dickish,” Jake retaliated, and they both laughed. Archie rolled his eyes, but I pushed back against the surge of people to head for the door.
I caught sight of Rachel on the far side, and she raised her eyebrows, but I just shook my head. We were good. We finally made it to the damn door, and the first wash of chilly, October air was a relief against the rising humidity inside from the press of too many bodies and the dancing. At least the paint wasn’t melting off of me.
Some of the party had spilled outside onto the drive. And likely other places. The distinct sound of grunting was hard to miss, as were the moans. I rolled my eyes. They were definitely not in that direction. A quick sweep of those visible didn’t reveal Frankie or Bubba.
I glanced at Archie. He jerked his thumb to the side. “Covered porch this way.” At least he knew the place. I hadn’t been to Corey’s since sophomore year. I think we all did a party here then, too. Maybe.
Jake’s strides picked up speed, and we cut around the corner of the house in time to see someone yanking Frankie back off the porch and Bubba lunging at…
“Fucking Mitch?” The words fell from Jake’s lips, even as he raced forward. He flung one of the water bottles he was carrying, and it struck the guy holding Frankie. She stumbled sideways as her assailant tossed her to the ground, but Jake was already on the guy.
“Get Frankie,” I told Archie, even as I leapt the railing to plow into the asshole Bubba was pounding on. There were easily a half-dozen others on Bubba, and I grabbed the first one of those and darted around the fist he threw at me before I slammed my fist into his jaw.
It fucking hurt. But I jammed my knee right into his crotch and then shoved him into the guy behind him. Then I peeled into the next guy. Someone nailed me right in my kidneys.
How many of these fuckers were there?
A feminine shriek cut through the air, and I twisted, even as I tried to get the asshole on me into a headlock.
Where the fuck was Frankie, and why hadn’t Archie gotten her out of here?
Jake
The air outside was a balm after the cloying humidity of all the bodies dancing and pressed together indoors. Fucking costume itched. But it was worth it to see Frankie laugh each time her eyes focused on me. Granted, the ‘cowardly’ part of the title wasn’t my favorite, but maybe I could talk her into letting me make her purr later.
I was still half-grinning about that idea when we hit the corner of the house. I had just enough time to see the bag get yanked over Frankie’s head as she was hauled backwards over the railing and off the porch. Ten guys—maybe more, maybe less—faced off with Bubba and surrounded him.
Rage poured through my system. A distant part of my mind recognized what happened in these situations. They were the kinds of things that Diane wanted to dissect during anger management. At the moment, I didn’t give a flying fuck.
Three things were abundantly clear.
Some asshole had his hands on Frankie.
A series of assholes were pounding on Bubba.
And I was going to beat the living hell out of all of them.
The water bottle in my hand became a projectile as I flung it. It struck the side of the jerk holding Frankie’s head, and he tossed her away. I narrowed my target to tackle him and wrenched him to the ground away from her.
Coop shouted something, but I wasn’t listening. I slammed my fist into the asshole I tackled, then grabbed a fistful of his hair to slam his head against the