But since she was already about to call the police, he knew he needed to end this little act fast before she saw too much or suspected anything.
He caught the tattooed man’s eye and gave a quick, discreet signal.
The man nodded almost imperceptibly, then staggered backward dramatically as if hit hard.
He clutched his stomach, shouted a curse, and ran to his car.
Before slamming the door shut, he rolled down the window, yelled, “Alright, kid, you’ve got guts!” then sped away into the night.
Kevin exhaled softly, pretending to collapse from exhaustion.
Mom held my younger brother tightly for a moment, soothing his tears.
Then, warning him not to move, she opened the door and ran toward Kevin.
The click of her stilettos echoed on the pavement, each step an accidental sway of her tight skirt, every motion strangely hypnotic.
The faint tension of the stockings against her ankles gave an involuntary, sensual rhythm to her stride.
Kneeling beside him, she bent down to inspect his wounds.
That movement lifted the edge of her gray pencil skirt again, exposing more of her thigh through the skin‑tight nude stockings.
The nylon hugged her smooth skin so closely it gleamed under the streetlight, tracing out the faintest flesh tones beneath.
Her narrow waist, accentuated by the curve of her bowing posture, and her round hips now pressed against the fabric were sharply defined, the material straining over them.
She helped him upright, cradling his shoulders; in doing so, her full breasts pressed against him, the soft weight of her body meeting the heat of his chest.
He could feel her perfume enveloping him, mixed with the faint warmth of her body.
Her touch sent every nerve in his body into disarray.
His expression twisted in feigned pain, teeth gritted.
He leaned heavily against her shoulder, one hand clutching his chest, the other limp at his side.
Mom’s face tightened with worry.
She brushed his hand aside and lifted his shirt carefully.
Dark bruises spread across his ribs and arm, looking worse than they felt.
“You silly boy… why were you so reckless?” she murmured, voice heavy with concern.
Her fingers skimmed his skin to steady him; he inhaled sharply at the contact.
She withdrew her hand instinctively, but her gaze stayed fixed on the dark mark across his torso.
To see it better, she leaned in closer close enough that her breast brushed his arm again.
The fit of her skirt tightened as she bent; even the curve of her hips seemed to ripple under the fabric, a sensual shape that hovered in his peripheral vision.
Her eyes traveled upward, studying his swollen lip.
She raised her hand, her fingertip brushing lightly at the corner of his mouth.
Her fingers were soft, smooth, faintly scented with lotion.
That small touch hit him like a spark.
“Does it still hurt?” she whispered.
The gentleness in her voice washed over him like warm water or silk.
Every syllable vibrated close enough that her breath fanned across his cheek, faintly sweet, disarming.
She frowned again, seeing the dust on his collar, and reached up to straighten it.
The backs of her fingers brushed against his neck light, featherlike and his body jerked before he could stop himself.
She didn’t seem to notice, simply smoothing the fabric with careful little motions, like a wife tidying her husband’s shirt.
“I’m fine, Auntie,” he said quickly, forcing a weak smile.
“It wasn’t that bad.
It’s just… when that guy started mouthing off at you, saying those filthy things, I couldn’t hold back.
Even if he beat me half to death, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.” The words came out husky, almost heroic.
She blinked, then sighed, moved and exasperated at once.
“You foolish child.
Don’t say such things.” She tapped his forehead with one manicured finger, the touch cool where it brushed his sweat.
“Next time, no more playing hero.
If something worse had happened, how would I ever explain it to your uncle?” Her tone scolded, but her voice shimmered with quiet affection.
As she spoke, her chest rose and fell with each breath, the thin silk of her blouse tightening with the motion.
“Come.
You need a hospital.
You’re not driving anywhere in that state,” she said.
She looked him over again from head to foot, more worried than angry now.
He hid his grin, pretending to protest weakly: “No, no, Auntie I’ll be okay.
It just hurts a little.
I just need rest.” “You’re as stubborn as your uncle,” she sighed.
“Pain like that could mean something’s broken.
No arguing we’re going.” Before he could object, she already had her hand around his arm, gently steering him toward the car again.
When the hired driver arrived, she sat close beside him in the back seat.
My brother sat quietly, frowning up at Kevin’s bruised face, occasionally reaching out to pat his bandaged hand.