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feeling the air rush out of my lungs. He grabs me again and tosses me to the ground, kicking me in the stomach. I double over in pain, covering the back of my neck with my hands.
    But that’s before I remember that you’re only supposed to do that if a bear attacks you. Idiot , I think. How do I get out of this?
    I roll to my side, just missing gangster boy’s crowbar as it clangs against the ground where my head just was. Terror shoots up from my feet to my brain. I jump up and take a crowbar to the hip.
    “Stop!” I plead, desperate.
     Gangster boy slams the crowbar towards me. I cover my face and close my eyes. Bam. It takes me a moment to realize that it isn’t my head that got hit. Or my stomach.Or anything else of physical importance. I peek through my hands, shocked to see Chris’s powerful arm blocking the crowbar.
    He’s standing protectively in front of me. He whips his hand underneath the bar, twists it out of gangster boy’s hand and slams it into his head. I stifle a shocked gasp into my palm. Gangster boy goes down and Ray tries to advance on Chris.
    I take a step backwards, gripping my throbbing hip. Chris twirls the crowbar around in his hand like it’s a baton, using it to thrust it forward into Ray’s stomach. Ray makes a weird gagging noise and bends forward, grabbing his abdomen in pain.
    Join the club , I think.
    Chris then drops the bar and takes Ray by the neck.
    “I should kill you,” he growls, every muscle in his body tense, bulging.
    Ray chokes out an unintelligible response.
    “Get the hell out of here,” Chris warns, kicking the now-terrified gangster forward. “You come back and I will kill you.”
    Ray, still gripping his stomach, nods weakly and takes off across the gas station. I can only stare at gangster boy’s unconscious body strewn across the asphalt. There’s no blood or anything, but it’s still freaky to see.
    “Where is it?” Chris asks, breathing hard.
    He’s amped up, his cheeks flushed red.
    “Chris…where’s what ?” I stammer, still shaking with shock.
    “Where’d he hit you, Cassie?” he demands. “Did he hit you in the head? Yes or no?”
    “What? No.” I grimace. “My side, though. It’s killing me.”
    Chris swears and lifts my jacket. He pulls the shirt up underneath and I peer down at the skin right above my hip. It’s turning black and blue right in front of my eyes. “Dammit.” He places his hand on the skin. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”
    Our eyes meet. I inhale sharply, realizing I must have dirt and gravel all over my face. Being the self-conscious idiot that I am, I look down and cover my face with my hand, embarrassed. Chris threads his fingers through mine and brings my hand down. “Cassie,” he says, his voice rough.
    I look back up. Raw emotion is burning in his eyes.
    “We have to get out of here,” I whisper. “There’ll be more like them.”
    Chris nods slowly.
    He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and draws me closer. For one awkward yet incredible moment I think he’s about to kiss me. Instead he slips his arm behind my back and starts leading me to the car. I limp and hobble like a grandma on roller-skates thanks to the profound pain radiating through my body. Chris opens the passenger door.
    “I didn’t find any gas,” he says, sliding his arms underneath my legs. He lowers me onto the seat, taking his sweet time pulling away from me. My pulse is pounding – but from the traumatic attack or his touch I can’t tell.
    “We’ll just have to go as far as we can on what we have, then,” I reply.
    He rubs his chin. Closes the door. Walks around the Mustang and gets into the driver’s seat. It’s funny how after just a few hours he’s automatically started driving my car.
    “I’m sorry they hurt you, Cassie,” he says. He swallows, every muscle in his body taut, hard. “I won’t let that happen again.”
    I smile despite everything.
    “Thanks,” I reply in a soft voice. “For saving me.”
    He