His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (8 page)

So that just left Anastacia with... Olivier.

A grinning Olivier who took her hand, turned in the opposite direction with her and she realized he intended to walk her home. Well, she wasn't having that. Not after last night.

"You're not walking me home."

"
Si
, I'm walking both of us home, since I am using Nico's penthouse apartment. The apartment in your building. We are both going in the same direction. It would be ridiculous not to walk together."

This whole night was beginning to feel farcical to an Anastacia who was a woman well used to being in charge of her life and of her destiny. She didn't feel in charge of either at the moment, and she hated it.

The quick jerk to release her hand didn't work, so she decided to go with the flow.

For the moment.

That didn't mean she was going to talk to the stubborn Italian.

Silence, as the song said, was golden.

Her mouth was sulky and her eyes were sulky, too.

And if she'd had her wits about her, she might've managed to avert the calamity that followed.

"Hey, mamma!" a voice from Eastern Europe said from behind them.

Anastacia turned to find two young men holding long and shiny blades, and then found herself scooped up and shoved behind Olivier.

"Nice bag. Hand it over and no one will get hurt," said the one who looked like a great ape.

Anastacia had had a very bad day.

To be mugged by two low-life scum-bags was just the cherry on top of the icing on the cake.

The contents of her bag included her MAC Book Air, her cell and her organizer and no way in
hell
was she going to hand it over to a pair of goons.

In her brain her temper was doing a nice snap, crackle and pop.

She elbowed Olivier out of the way as her face got into the flat Slavic face of the one who'd demanded her bag.

"Fuck off. Right now, and you'll not get hurt."

His response in her face was a loud and long laugh.

And then Anastacia found herself lifted off her feet as Olivier cursed her in fluid Italian and shoved her behind him again.

An Olivier who was even now bargaining with the muggers offering his watch, his wallet. The second mugger holding a knife was now edging ever closer to Olivier and all Anastacia could see was a bad situation getting out of control fast.

Anastacia didn't hesitate.

She swung her bag and connected with the mugger's jaw. And as he fell, in a move taught in her twice weekly Krav Maga class, her fingers poked him in the eyes and then her pointy shoe kicked him right in the balls. The agonized howl was music to her ears as her spiky heel nailed his hand holding the knife to the pavement. His scream rent the night air as he released the blade. She knew better than to touch it, so with her free foot she kicked the knife into the gutter. In the meantime, Olivier was in a hand-to-hand struggle with a man twice his body weight. The big guy had his legs spread, his hand on Olivier's throat while Olivier's hand gripped the meaty wrist of the hand holding the knife.

"Run, Anastacia!" yelled Olivier.

She did no such thing.

Instead she scowled at him.

Stupid man.

With a stomach churning sucking noise, Anastacia simply freed the pointy heel of her shoe from the flesh of the mugger's hand and stalked around behind the big guy grappling with Olivier. She didn't look at Olivier, since she didn't want to distract him. Instead she put all her weight on her left leg and used a kick-boxing move that ripped the seam of her dress and nailed the mugger in the nuts. The only sound he made was a weird high groan as he went down like a stone to his knees. By this time passers-by were taking videos of the fight on their cell phones and had called the police.

Breathing heavily through gritted teeth, the big guy might be down, but he wasn't out.

He got to his feet, bellowed like a bull and headed straight for Anastacia.

And Olivier roared for her to run.

"In these shoes?" She yelled back. "Are you kidding me?"

So, bouncing on her toes she balanced and readied herself, fists up, and punched the mugger right in the throat.

Again he went down like a stone, but not before a flying fist caught her cheek.

The searing pain brought stars to her eyes as she staggered back.

All she heard was Olivier's shout as the police arrived and then everything went grey.

The last thought in her head was that she'd ripped her VB dress and Danni was so going to kill her.

The world went black.

An hour later, Anastacia, feeling very sorry for herself, was sitting behind screens in accident and emergency with her bare feet dangling over the side of a narrow bed. It had to be said that she was not looking her best. During the ambulance ride to the hospital, a chatty paramedic had taken her blood pressure and shone a penlight in her eyes. And all the while a very pale Olivier hadn't taken his dark eyes from her face. She eyed the bruises on his throat, but said nothing. He hadn't uttered a single word either. The too strained silence, along with his stink eye and clenched jaw, said it all. Anastacia received the message loud and clear. Olivier was beyond angry with her. Looking back, she had to concede that maybe he had a point. Maybe she
had
been a bit hasty wading right in to kick ass. But in these situations, the guys had knives after all, she'd been taught to go with her gut and her instincts. However, now she realized that perhaps she'd scared Olivier, just a little. Maybe he had good reason to be angry with her. A niggle of guilt wormed its way into her stubborn brain.

Despite the pain meds floating through her system, they made her feel spacey and light headed, her cheek still hurt like a bitch and her right eye was all but closed. She sniffed. Anastacia was not the type of woman to indulge in a bout of self-pity, but from time to time her eyes were prickling and she blinked frantically to clear them. The initial adrenaline high had leaked away, leaving her jittery and feeling sick to her stomach. She'd had her face X-rayed. Her cheek-bone wasn't broken. She was a very lucky girl, the doctor said. Yeah, right. No one would let her look in a mirror, which meant her face looked even worse than it felt. And to top it all her favourite shoes were ruined, too. The police had taken them for DNA evidence that was stuck to the heel. Ick. Her stomach rolled just thinking about it. In jest, a young policeman had winked at her and called her
Lara Croft
. Olivier's I-don't-find-that-fucking-funny stare had made the policeman go red and apologize. Her beautiful little dress was covered in blood splatter and ripped at the seam all the way up to her panties. To protect her dignity, a pretty young nurse had taken pity on her and draped a faded gown of hospital issue green cotton over her shoulders. The young policeman, who looked as if he wasn't old enough to hold a razor, had brought her a plastic cup of sludge that the hospital assured patients was indeed coffee. Now the policeman made himself comfortable in a skinny plastic chair and asked her if she was well enough to go over her statement... yet again. In the corridor, Olivier was giving his statement to a burly sergeant. A sergeant who was suffering from a severe case of football hero worship. Anastacia could tell by his stony face that Olivier was not a happy chappy.

And just to put another big fat cherry on top of the icing on this particular cake, apparently Nico was on his way, and Linda, too. Which was quite ridiculous because, apart from a couple of bumps and bruises (her hip throbbed like a bad tooth) Anastacia reckoned she was absolutely fine.

At the sound of T.C.'s strident voice demanding to know, "Where the hell is Anastacia Morgan?" Anastacia closed her eyes and a tiny whimper escaped from her throat. Then she heard the harried receptionist telling T.C. to take a seat. And of course, T.C. wasn't having any of it and making her feelings on the matter perfectly clear at the top of her voice.

Anastacia eyed the young policeman who'd cocked his head and was listening to the altercation with interest.

"You'd better bring her in, she's my sister," lied Anastacia straight to his face. Actually, Danni and T.C. were as close to her as sisters so it was only a little white lie, she assured herself.

The policeman rose and strolled down the corridor, his police issue boots squeaking on shiny grey linoleum. Two minutes later a wide-eyed T.C. barged into the cubicle. She was wearing her regulation blogger wear, low-slung yoga pants and fleece top the color of dark cherries and a pair of UGG ankle boots, black and covered in Swarovski crystals. Her blonde hair was tied up in a high tail. And her face was scrubbed clean of make-up. She looked about fifteen and gorgeous and worried sick.

"Oh my fucking God. You're trending again in Facebook and Twitter. How a tiny warrior took down two big bastards." The way T.C.'s hands were trembling as she grabbed Anastacia's chin and jerked it up to the light to check out the damage, made Anastacia's eyes sting. T.C.'s blue eyes filled, too, as her voice went hoarse. "Mother fuckers! Look at the fucking state of you."

The policeman entered and cleared his throat at the number of F-bombs being dropped in a public place and immediately T.C. turned on him.

"What's your problem? Can't you see she's been battered black and blue? Why the hell are you not out there keeping our streets safe from these bozos?"

Anastacia held T.C.'s wrists and squeezed.

She waited until watery baby blue eyes met hers.

"I'm fine. Really. I'm fine."

"Yeah," piped up the policeman. "You should see the other guys."

And just like that, T.C. burst into tears and clasped Anastacia to her heaving bosom.

Which was the precise moment that Nico and Olivier entered.

Nico was dressed in ancient blue jeans white at the knees and seams, a black cashmere sweater and scuffed black boots. His hair was all mussed and he needed a shave. Watching her boss over T.C.'s shoulder, Anastacia had to admit that he looked absolutely amazing, and the way the young nurse was staring at him, she thought so, too.

Since Nico was a man who took control of any and all situations, he lifted the sobbing T.C. and handed her over to Olivier.

Now Nico stood, legs apart, arms folded and beaned Anastacia with a hard look she knew only too well.

His jaw went tight as his brilliant gaze scanned her face and rested on her sore cheek.

Crappity crap.

"Anastacia,
cara mia
," growled Nico, his Italian accent rising to the fore. "Why on earth did you not just hand over the bag?"

Good question.

And one that the police had asked her several times, along with, "What was in the bag that was more important than your life or the life of your companion?"

The truth, now that she was sitting in accident and emergency surrounded by police, her boss, her friends and a furious Olivier, sounded somewhat ridiculous now.

But what more could she say?

"It had my laptop and my cell and my cards and my wallet and I'd had a bad day and was determined that they were not touching my stuff..." Her voice trailed away at the hard look Nico gave her.

Oh man.

She really was in the shitter.

And Nico did not disappoint.

"All of which," said Nico in a soft voice that sounded too loud in a room that had gone eerily quiet. Cold sweat trickled down her back. "Could have been easily replaced. Which is more than can be said for you. If something had happened to you or to Olivier tonight, tell me how we would have replaced either of you?"

Anastacia hunched her shoulders as she stared at her filthy bare feet, unaware it made her look as if she was five years old, and made Nico's eyes gentle.

"I acted purely on instinct. Plus, I was annoyed at myself that I hadn't been paying close enough attention to my surroundings."

"Why were you not paying close enough attention?" A relentless Nico wanted to know.

"Olivier insisted on walking me home. I was distracted and didn't feel the change in the atmosphere that would have alerted me to danger. They were on us before I could react, so I went with instinct."

"Good job she's got Krav Maga skills," said the young policeman in a voice filled to the brim with admiration. "She kicked ass."

Nico turned and beaned him with a look that made the policeman go pale.

"
Si
, but in the process she also got hurt. If she'd given up the bag, no one would have been hurt."

"We don't know that," Anastacia interrupted, regaining her fighting spirit fast. Her eyes met Nico's. "They had knives and were quite prepared to use them. While Olivier was negotiating with a gorilla, his pal, holding a blade, was creeping closer and closer. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing, could I?"

Now Nico shook his head, but his mouth had lost that hard line and his eyes weren't pinning her to the spot.

Perhaps the worst was over?

She could only hope.

Nico turned to the policeman.

"I think she has had enough for one night, don't you? If you are finished with her we can take her home."

The young policeman jumped to attention.

"Sure, just let me clear it with my sergeant and the medics."

After he left, T.C. sat on the bed next to Anastacia and took her hand.

She studied Anastacia's face and her blue eyes filled again. "You look like shit."

But before Anastacia could thank her very kindly, Danni and Linda entered.

The way their eyes went too wide when they saw her, made Anastacia heave a very deep and very heartfelt sigh.

"I know, I know, I look like shit."

Danni moved in to pull back the hospital gown and check out the dress.

Her only reaction to the blood stains and destruction was to bite down hard on her bottom lip.

"Sorry about the dress," whispered an Anastacia nearly at the end of her tether. And found herself grabbed in another hug, this time with Linda on one side and Danni on the other.

"Who cares?" Danni choked out the words. "As long as you're okay, fuck the dress."