Free One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1 by Tammi Labrecque

her room when she was unpacking, and her phone was sitting in the fancy bowl — valet — whatever . Second, and far worse, she heard a woman scream, somewhere close by.
    It was one of those moments to either think or act; somewhat uncharacteristically, she chose the second option. The scream had seemed to come from off to her right; she looked cautiously down the nearest side street and saw nothing, then moved halfway down the block in the same direction and peered into an alleyway.
    The wan illumination of the streetlight at the curb beside her reached just far enough into the alley to show her that this was trouble, of the worst sort. A woman — petite, blonde, wearing a tiny red skirt and bandanna top — was trying her damnedest to pull out of the grip of a stocky, bald guy in a black sweatshirt and having no luck at all, while another guy, this one in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, tried to trap her wildly flailing legs. Not that succeeding would have been particularly helpful anyway, not when there were two other guys standing ready to catch her if she did.
    She thought about leaving … and then she remembered that she was a woman, and thought about how that could have been her in there, if she’d walked by five minutes sooner.
    “Hey,” she shouted from the mouth of the alley, and took two steps in. “I called the cops! Let her go!”
    In her head, this was perfect. It was going to send the guys scattering to the four winds, and then she’d help the woman to safety.
    In reality, the two guys not currently holding a struggling woman came after her at a dead run. She had time to think, Oh, shit! and turn to run — and then they were on her.
    She screamed and got backhanded for her trouble, which split her lip and pissed her off enough that she started kicking and punching in earnest. But there were two of them and one of her, and it was a matter of less than a minute before she was hauled back into the alley and pushed up against a wall next to the other woman.
    Their eyes met as one of the guys holding Lily slid his hand up under Lily’s shirt and copped a quick, assessing feel, the zipper at the wrist of his red jacket scraping against her skin. Lily felt like she might be going a little mad, and was surprised that no matching expression could be found in the other woman’s eyes; the other woman just looked — what?
    Resigned , Lily decided. She looks like that scream was all the fight she had in her.
    The fourth guy, who was decked out in a blue wifebeater and — of all the crazy-ass things — yellow flip-flops, let out a yelp then swore and let go of Lily for a moment. “Fuck! Something — something bit me!”
    “What the fuck, dude?” Red Jacket said, though at least it got him to take his hand off Lily’s boob so he could restrain the arm Wifebeater had let loose.
    “I don’t know — I thought it was a cat, but then — I don’t know. Fuck!” Wifebeater was rubbing his forearm, and it did indeed have a giant reddening welt on it.
    “Nevermind your fucking arm, for Christ’s sake,” Red Jacket said. “Get one of her arms.”
    Wifebeater complied, recapturing Lily’s left arm and pinning it against the wall. He looked at her with a lecherous grin. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, getting in close to her face. “We’re gonna party, okay?”
    Okay? she thought. It is most certainly not fucking okay. Has he lost his mind?
    Rather than get into a debate about his sanity, she spat in his face.
    Not smart, as it turned out, since he backhanded her — this was her evening for being backhanded, it seemed, which would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been so terrifying. To think that thirty minutes ago she’d been in a however-many-thousands of dollars per night hotel suite with the hottest guy she’d ever met, eating gourmet food and trying to decide whether to cap off her night with a swim or a round in the jacuzzi.
    Now she was being smacked around by a couple of lowlifes, and the smacking