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When I looked up, I saw his hand fly, and Selene stumbled and fell just like I had, holding her cheek. Something came over me, something I couldn’t explain… And I was on top of him, snarling and growling like a vicious monster. I bloodied his nose and chomped down on his shoulder before I let him go and he ran like a coward from me, back toward town. I picked myself up and turned to see Selene on her knees, tears from pain and shock in her eyes. She’d never been struck like that before. I came to kneel by her, wrapping an arm around her. She buried her face in my chest and left a thankful kiss at the base of my neck. I loved the feeling, but I was too worried for her to revel in it. I scooped her up and carried her to my truck, sitting her up on the hood so I could take a look at her cheek. It was just a bruise, but she’d scraped one hand when she fell. I took it and kissed her palm feeling terrible for her, that she’d gotten involved with that son of a bitch. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I told. That morning, I slept in until 10:00, got up and performed my morning Tai Chi regimine. Then ate a healthy breakfast homemade chuckwagon, eggs fried over hard, chicken fried pork steak, kale, toast and strawberry jam. I spent the afternoon with Christian Select, Lawerence Fitzhugh and Paul Owen at this dodgy golf course Owen’s uncle is buying. The course was okay, the decour was cheap & outdated and most of the staff were either on probation or working i*****lly. I met Carmella Hernandez at an Irish pub called Darragh's wearing black khakis and a purple dress shirt both by Hugo Boss. My sneakers were the cheapest black Vans in the store. Carmella Hernandez was a 40 year old fourth generation Mexican-American woman who lacked any kind of accent. She weighed 77 kg and was 175 cm tall. Her hair was wavy, parted in the middle and not a single one was grey. Her bust was modest but her nipples were enormous, standing out against her scarlet blouse. She wore black leggings that highlighted.
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