Surprise bitches! I wasn't done yet!
I'm gonna get in trouble
My ex will start a fight
Na na na na na na na, he's gonna start a fight
Na na na na na na na, we're all gonna get in a fight!
"So What" -P!nk
He's frozen. Frozen. Frozen.
He'd come ready to grovel if need be, in the hopes of salvaging some sort of friendly relationship to where they can at least be able to exist in the same room, but the macabre sight that greets him as he turns the corner stops him in his tracks.
Nesta, cornered by that man from the bar.
He knows he should be reacting; springing into action, his military training and every instinct he possesses screaming at him, a deafening roaring that syncs up to the pounding of his heart, the adrenaline to fight; to protect. He's seen live combat, taken down enemies much bigger than the scrawny, useless lump of a man that has Nesta in his arms, but somehow he can't find the ability to move.
Nesta, being degraded by that piece of scum.
It's a physical pain that rips through him at the sight of her so helpless, as though some sort of dark magic has torn through him, stealing his breath and leaving him aching. The vile things he's spitting at her filling him with a rage that roars through him. The biting words that make him want to tear down mountains, rend this man in half until he's nothing but a steaming pile of entrails for humiliating her, that he would have the audacity to degrade any woman that way.
Nesta, fighting.
And though the soldier in him analyzes her stance- the way her hand curls into a fist and braces herself before snapping out at the perfect angle, connecting at just the right spot knocking her opponent to the floor- and admires her technique.
Nesta, panting, bleeding, but alive and free. A warrior goddess in the flickering of the overhead lights, and his heart is bursting with pride (and just a tiny bit turned on) at her tenacity.
He breathes her name, the spell over him breaking, and hurries towards her.
She shrinks back, pressing herself against the wall, and scooting back as far away from the asshole on the floor as she can get before she reaches a corner. Cassian halts in his tracks. She's a deer in the woods, trapped by a wolf, with her wide-eyed look of panic. Cassian holds out a hand palm outward, slowly approaching the girl.
He stops, torn between placing himself between the asshole and Nesta and keeping an eye on the injured man. Cassian's close enough that he's not encroaching on her personal space, but close enough for her to reach out. He crouches down, making himself smaller, less intimidating. His height works against him.
The man groans at his feet, and Cassian scowls. He knows what he should do: wait with her until the cops come, give his statements, but he can't leave her here, leave her cold and shivering half naked in the back hallway of a club, where anyone can stumble upon them. He can't rescue her, couldn't stop the attack from coming, but he can get her out of here. He needs to get her out of here. Biting back the wrath that still threatens to consume him- the one that demands he lay into the man, Tomas he remembers offhand, that he break every finger that lay a hand on Nesta, bloody the face that would spew such hate-he rubs a hand over his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Slowly, carefully so as not to startle Nesta further, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He doesn't break eye contact, relying on muscle memory to call the club's head of security. He growls out terse commands, knowing that Devlon will take care of calling the cops. Even if Cassian didn't see what started the altercation, the club is littered with security cameras. The area is known for being a rougher one, but Rhys has done everything within his power to make the club the safest he can for his patrons.
"Nesta," he says again, voice soothing. "Come with me? Please?"
Cassian reaches out a hand, waiting for her to take it, letting her make the decision to come with him. An eternity passes as he waits, and he's sure there's some pleading that bleeds into his eyes.
A smooth palm slips into his, and he almost collapses in relief. She nods, a slight dip of her head, and Cassian pulls her to him. He expects her to shatter, to crumple in on herself weeping, but she doesn't. She's calmer now though, the cadence of his voice, the stillness of his body, the submissive posture, working in tandem to ease the girl.
"Not- Not back," Her voice is raspy and cracking, but she doesn't need to finish the sentence for him to understand.
"I know a place," he says with a nod, lump forming in his throat at the intrinsic trust she's placing in him.
He pulls her into an alcove, a pocket of darkness in the otherwise busy club, that leads to a hidden door. Cassian makes a mental note to remind Rhys to replace the burned out bulbs in the hallway. The door leads to a staircase and Nesta hesitates to walk across the threshold, to walk off with a man she barely knows. Cassian senses her reluctance.
"Rhys has security cameras everywhere," he promises, pointing to the camera that's nestled into the corner of the wall. "Even in the offices."
Her eyes flit to the camera and then to Cassian, and then heaves a sigh with a decisive nod. Pulling the remnants of her shirt tighter over herself and follows her sister's new brother-in-law up a flight of stairs and into the unknown.