84. Seventy-One Degree Love

                                    

                                              
The thug whirled around, and saw what I had spotted a moment before: Roy, towering in the doorway, black eyes alight with rage.
                          
The thug tensed. "How the hell—?"
                          
"I said," Roy cut him off, "let her go. Last warning."

                          
"You can go and fuck yourself, you son of a—"
                          
Roy moved.
                          
"No!" I yelled, tearing at my bonds. "Roy, he's got a knife! He'll—"
                          
I cut off. The thug had already pulled his knife on Roy, stabbed down—and not hit. I don't mean he missed, either. I mean Roy had grabbed his arm in mid-air and stopped him dead. The next thing I knew, Roy's elbow slammed into the guy's face, and he was catapulted backwards off his feet.
                          
"Yeah! Go, Roy, Go!"
                          
Too late I realized the voice was coming out of my own mouth. What the heck was I doing? This wasn't a wrestling match! The man I loved could end up hurt, or even dead!
                          
Still... as long as you're tied up here, you might as well enjoy the show.
                          
With a growl, the thug leapt back to his feet. His knife was still in his hand, and he looked more than ready to use it. He started to move forward—but Roy was faster. Much, much faster.
                          
"Ng!"
                          
I sat on my chair, gaping. I was a practicing martial artist myself and had seen some badass buttkickers in my time, but this... Roy's arms were a blur, building a solid wall of flesh and bone in front of his face. No matter how fast the other man struck, Roy was already there to grab his arm or slam his hand aside. His eyes were intent, his movements minimal and deadly. It was unlike any other fighting style I had ever seen.
                          
"You go, Roy!" I shouted, grinning like a lunatic. This was bloody awesome! If only I could join in! "Get him! Smash him to bits!"
                          
But Roy didn't attack. He deflected his enemy's blows with deadly precision, slowly moving forward, but passed several openings for a counterattack.
                          
"What are you waiting for?" I tugged at my bonds again. Blast! If only I could climb into the ring myself! I tried reaching for my knife again, but the blasted thing was still stuck at my hip, far out of reach! I determined that the moment I'd get out of this damn chair, I'd get an easily accessible sleeve sheath, like all those really good assassins on TV. "Kick his ass, doctor!"
                          
Roy gave no sign of having heard me. He continued to deflect his opponent's blows, slowly driving him back towards the table. What was he waiting for? He obviously had the mojo to smash that guy! What the hell was he waiting for?
                          
I got the answer to my question a second later.
                          
The moment the two of them reached the table, Roy's fist lashed out, sending his enemy staggering back. Bending down quick as a flash, Roy picked up one of the chairs, and, with a heave, smashed it against the dinner table. When the dust and splinters had settled down, he was holding a chair leg in each hand: two long, hard, wooden cudgels.
                          
I swallowed. Uh oh...
                          
"You tried to hurt my girl," he told the thug, who had backed up against a wall. "I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born!"
                          
An involuntary sigh escaped me. Oh God! That was so romantic!
                          
The thug apparently didn't think so, though, when the first blow hit him in the guts.
                          
Wham!
                          
"Ugh!"
                          
"Yes!" I did a triumphant fist pump—or at least I tried to. That kind of thing is hard to do when your arms are tied to a chair. "Get him, doctor! Give it to him good!"