Chapter 3: Play Hero

The ugly, bald man crudely played with Marlee's breasts, mauling his fist as if it were some sort of joke. Marlee's pretty face flushed; she gasped and struggled, but she didn't have the strength to fight back. She clearly knew what resisting would cost her. By then, her trench coat and blouse underneath had been undone.  The man grabbed her breasts; her flat, smooth belly was exposed. She still wore a black pencil skirt, and her long, pale legs were in sheer nude stockings. The ugly man was no longer satisfied. He started tugging her skirt down.  Marlee let out a sharp cry and grabbed at the fabric. "Shh, keep it down. No one comes here, but if you startle someone, we'll be in real trouble," the bald man said, flashing a wolfish grin. He caught her hand and forced the skirt down to her knees. Her lace underwear was suddenly visible, and her pale thighs showed. They were irresistibly provocative. My pants tented, and I clenched my fists, a surge of excitement running through me. In that instant, I wished it were me doing it, not that ugly bald creep. When he set his rough palm over the lace between her legs, I held my breath; I couldn't tear my eyes away. "Mm…" Marlee snapped her legs tight together, her face twisted in distress. Then I saw her eyes, red-rimmed, and tears sliding free. In the moonlight, her tears gleamed like tiny glass beads. Seeing those few drops spill over, my heart dropped. Something soft in me stirred. A woman's tears were the one thing I could never bear; in that moment, pity pricked me despite myself. Heat rushed to my head, and I stepped out from behind the flower bed. "What do you think you're doing?" I barked. Marlee's slender body jerked. Terror wiped the color from her face, and she flew to cover her breasts. The man started too, as if shocked, and let go of her. When he saw my face, he paused, snorted, and demanded, "Who are you?" "I'm Ms. Casson's neighbor. I was out for a run and happened to pass by. Ms. Casson, is he trying to molest you? I can call the police," I said, keeping my voice steady as I looked at Marlee. She had been scared out of her wits. Only then did she recognize me, and her expression grew even worse, shame flooding in. I repeated the question. The middle-aged man shot her a menacing glare and lifted his phone, shaking it as a warning, as if to say he had something on her. Marlee finally understood. She went pale and whispered, "N-no." "This place isn't safe. Let me walk you home," I said. "Kid, Ms. Casson and I still have things to settle. Don't stick your nose in," the bald man said, his eyes going cold. "On my way in, I ran into your husband back at the building. He asked where you were," I lied. At that, both their expressions changed. The balding man, clearly reluctant, said, "I just remembered I've got something to do. Ms. Casson, let's set another time to talk. I'll call you." He shot me one last glare and turned to go, then seemed to think of something. He gave a nasty little smile. "Ms. Casson, I'm taking these as a keepsake." With that, he yanked off her bra and lace underwear in one brutal motion. Marlee screamed. Her full, pale body and her most private parts were suddenly exposed before she could cover herself.  The balding man had already pocketed her intimate things and turned away with a flourish. I gave Marlee one quick glance and fixed my eyes on him again, every muscle tensed. He strutted off. Only when he vanished from sight did I let out a slow breath. I was nothing but a computer programmer who'd spent two years at home recuperating from a car crash. If I'd actually fought a bald bruiser who had to be at least 180 pounds, I'd have just been a punching bag. The night had gone quiet. Just the two of us remained in the park. Marlee kept her head down, fumbling at her clothes in a panic. Her bra was gone, and two buttons of her trench coat had been torn off. No matter how she tried to shield herself, she couldn't fully cover her figure; she looked, to my shame, like a streetwalker. Her cheeks burned. She didn't dare lift her gaze to me, palms pressed to her chest. I had tailed her to the park to dig up something I could use against her. Yet seeing her so humiliated and disheveled pricked my conscience. I shrugged off my jacket and held it out. "Put this on." She stared at me, startled, then quickly murmured thanks and turned her back to pull it over her shoulders. "This place isn't safe. Come back with me," I said. Maybe because I had saved her, Marlee nodded without argument. I handed her some tissues. She walked behind me, wiping away tear tracks over and over, looking like a timid, wronged wife. In the cab, the driver kept sneaking glances at her in the rearview mirror. To be fair, once she wore my jacket, nothing was showing. He stared because she was beautiful, and with a figure like that, people stare. Even so, she stayed tense, arms folded, one hand unconsciously shielding her chest. No one spoke. The air felt heavy. Close to home, she hesitated, then said, "Mr. Halenkamp, could I ask you a favor?" "What is it? Tell me." "Could you keep what happened tonight a secret?" "Did anything happen tonight?" I asked, feigning ignorance. She blinked, then caught on and said in a rush, "Thank you!" "We're neighbors. Don't mention it," I said, smiling. We got out together at the gates of our complex. "Did my husband really come back?" she asked, still tense. I laughed. "You really believed that? I lied to scare him off." She thanked me again, and again. We walked side by side into the complex. Marlee kept her head down, unable to meet my eyes. I figured it was because I'd seen her naked and witnessed what happened with the balding man; she felt so humiliated she wished the ground would swallow her. "Can you tell me who that middle-aged man is?" I asked.