Free Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

“Adrenaline, love. Don’t be sorry and don’t blame yourself.”
    I closed my eyes.
    How did he have this ability to read my mind?
    I nodded and we turned to face them.

I RAN THROUGH the details of what had happened with Spider and Lulu, describing how I’d found Remi fighting off Chad on the ground.
    I should have come out sooner.
    You aren’t her keeper, my brain said.
    I reached for Remi’s hand and laced our fingers together. She tightened her grasp, and I pulled her against me as she responded to their questions, her voice low and weak, but her composure calm—better than I’d expected from someone who’d been attacked.
    But then she’d always projected control.
    Over the years, I’d listened in on conversations about her, just to know what she was up to. The times when I’d seen her at a campus-wide frat party and we’d come face to face, you’d never have known she knew me. With a frozen smile, she’d meet my gaze—and keep walking.
    Like I was a piece of fucking furniture.
    Granted, I usually had a couple of girls hanging on me.
    I watched her more than I should have considering she was the girlfriend of one of my rivals. It was understood that we didn’t poach the Omega girls and vice versa unless we wanted to end up in a tangle on the quad. Not that I’d ever cared. If I wanted a girl, I took her, although I never went after attached ones, especially those as close as Remi and Hartford.
    Plus, I’d had my chance with her, and I hadn’t wanted it.
    I came back to the present as sirens wailed in the distance.
    At least someone had called the police.
    Two beefy guys who I knew to be bouncers for the club flew out the metal door and scanned the area, pausing on our huddled foursome near the dumpster.
    They headed toward us. “Everything okay out here?” one of them asked us.
    Renewed anger hit and my fists tightened. “It is now,” I said tersely, straightening to eye them. “If you have a back door, it would be a damn good idea to keep security—especially near an alley. My friend was mugged and nearly killed by one of your patrons.”
    “I’m fine,” Remi said, smoothing it over. “Thanks to you.”
    I glanced down at her face. She smiled, albeit a weak one, and I felt a small bit of peace.
    She was safe. She was fine.
    But I couldn’t completely relax.
    A few minutes later, we gave statements about the incident to the officers and assured them we’d come back down the next day if we remembered anything else. Apparently, there’d been a rash of similar muggings in the area—one or two white men who hit on victims they’d met in bars and clubs. Both of the guys Lulu had picked up fit their general description. They took jewelry, money, bags, phones, even clothes. The police had told the local pawnshops to be on alert if they came in with specific stolen goods, but so far they hadn’t had any hits.
    Remi looked crushed when they told her they had no leads.
    After the police left, Spider and Lulu went to grab us some waters at the bar while we found ourselves in the staff restroom that the manager of Masquerade had generously offered us, along with an offer of free admission and drinks for the rest of the week.
    Remi had small cuts on her hands from the gravel and several fingerprint bruises on her neck that she insisted she could cover up with make-up the next day. Thankfully, the club had a small first aid kit with witch hazel and alcohol wipes. Of course, the police had checked her out and taken a few pictures, but she’d adamantly refused to go to a hospital.
    She sat on a stool and I cleaned her feet off, careful to get the little bits of dirt out. It was as if we’d overcome a hurdle. We were friends. Sort of.
    We hadn’t actually said that, but I felt the connection between us.
    Later, I leaned against the sink as she dabbed my swelling eye with a cold compress someone had brought us from the kitchen. One of the bartenders had also scrounged around in the employees’ stock