“Let my wife go!”
Omari’s eyes darted from me to the rod in Madison’s hand. He squeezed the back of her neck tighter. “Gimme that.”
“No!” She swung the blob at him.
Omari jumped to the side, releasing her neck. I balled my fists, took a controlled step closer, feeling safe. Safe adjacent, as long as my wife kept that thing away. Because while I didn’t fear the dude, I was shamefully, grown-man terrified of the heat my wife could unleash.
I moved fast, fist slamming upward into his jaw. He traded a cross of his own. At least, he tried.
I sidestepped, quick enough to watch the air move between us. Though not a boxer, reflexes came installed in my Louisiana bloodline. I swung at him again, left-right. He shifted to the left, grabbed a glass figure off a rack and flung it toward me. Every Babineaux gene in me stood up, blocked that, and chose more violence as I bum-rushed him, bringing him back against a metal desk.
“I see why you’re attacking women. Yo’ ass can’t fight!” My fists torpedoed his face, while he slammed his knuckles into my ribs. I winced, gripped him by the shoulders, and slammed him into the metal table again. He flopped with the dignity of wet laundry.
Madison yelped. The molten blob at the end of her rod splattered near my feet. The glop hissed like Satan’s teapot.
“Maddy!” I rasped, the sound more manly than I felt under the circumstances.
Mistake of my life. Omari staggered forward, then brought the back of his head up. He head-butted my chin so hard my life rocked.
“No, you didn’t.” Madison lifted the rod and swung it at his back.
The glowing mass smacked Omari, and the rod stuck to his spine.
The sound and smell of an entire pound of bacon falling into a scalding iron skillet filled the air. My soul flinched. I gagged like a Karen right before she raged with an elaborate Yelp review while still inside the restaurant.
Omari, sniveling and sobbing, stumbled to the left and landed with a thud on his knees. The side of his face ate the epoxy floor.
“Oh my god, I killed him!” Madison rushed to me and burst into tears.
Somewhere behind us, Omari gave a muffled groan. Face still planted against the ground. Did we give a damn? Not a single one.
All I discerned was Madison, eyes glistening, shock and fear tangled together. “I don’t wanna go to prison. I know you can get me off, but if it got to trial, I’d still meet Felicia and Loretta.”
“Loretta Devine?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Nah, not her. That’s a good woman. Kinda resembles Momma.”
“No. Fresh Fade Felicia, with the barbershop hairstyle.”
“My bad.” I pulled her flush toward me and kissed her hard. “I can’t think when mybébé’scrying. Besides, I was joking. My second cousin, Felicia, will protect you if I put money on her books.”
Madison blinked, bottom lip trembling. “Wash?”
“Hey … hey.” With my hands, I cupped her face, and I tasted the salt of her tears when I pressed my mouth against her wet cheeks. “You’re not going to jail,bébé. This is an obvious case of self-defense.”
She gasped into my mouth, that small, broken sound, that always hit like someone had plugged my heart into a generator. Her hands sank into fists at my shirt, dragging me down, pulling me closer, reckless and greedy. I matched her fierceness with a kiss that said,You’re safe.
After a time, she breathed against my beard. “Wash, I’m gonna smack you later.”
“Why?” I asked, pulling her lips to mine.
“Your joke about Felicia.”
I slid my hands to the small of her back and hauled her against me. “Fresh Fade?—”
“Stop clowning about your cousin like that. I’d totally forgotten she was back in.” She moaned, kissing me so hard that every nerve ending in my body sparked. “But the second I’m done kissing you.” She smiled, lips smacking mine. “I’ma hit you. Fair warning?”
“Nah,chère.” I chuckled, nipping her bottom lip.
“Baby,” she murmured against my mouth, “thank you for always being hours early.” She laughed against my lips and kissed me again. With my hands anchored against her sweet curves, she fit against me as if God had carved us from the same stubborn material.