Linda Kay Silva - Delta Stevens 3 - Weathering the Storm by Linda Kay Silva

tall and Delta estimated his weight at somewhere close to 200 pounds, maybe 210. He reminded Delta of a California black bear.
    “How ’bout we make it so’s you really never forget us, eh, baby? You and your Chicana friend, eh?”
    Delta cast a look over at Connie, who flinched. Even in the dim light from the parking lot, Delta could see the fire in her eyes and the intensity of her demeanor as she studied and calculated the odds of a successful attack.
    “C’mon, Stockton! Let’s dump this asswipe and have us some fun with these broads.” For the first time, the hustler spoke through grit teeth. “Leave the ladies alone.”
    “Ladies?” Stockton mocked. “No lady would have walked over here unless she was wanting some action.” Stepping up to the hustler, Stockton punched him in the stomach again. “And we’re willin’ to oblige ’em.”
    The adrenaline surge pumped through her body, feeding blood into her muscles and making Delta’s five-nine frame expand and harden. She loved this feeling; this ride on the razor’s edge. “Oh, we want some action, all right, but not the kind you’ve got in mind.”
    “Get outta here,” the hustler commanded. “I can take care of myself. Go on now—scoot before they hurt you.”
    Connie took a step forward. Having witnessed Connie’s black belt ability in action on numerous occasions, Delta knew she was preparing herself for an attack. And when it came, it was sure to be swift, brutal, and incapacitating. “Well, it certainly does look like you can take care of yourself, Junior.” Connie took a step closer.
    Delta watched as Connie’s hands opened and closed in fists. Maybe she wouldn’t need her niner after all.
    Stockton stepped closer to Connie. “How about we take care of you first, Senorita?”
    Suddenly, the two men holding the hustler dumped him hard on the ground, and Stockton stepped up to him and kicked him in the stomach. Delta could hear the wind rush out of him as he grabbed his battered body.
    “What say we party, girls?”
    Connie checked with Delta one last time. The fire had intensified into a bright flashing flame, as Connie shifted into fighting mode. Poised, ready, body tight with anticipation, Connie prepared herself for the inevitable clash with the bear. Connie’s hands were registered as lethal. Delta did not worry that they were outnumbered as long as Connie stood by her side with her arms and legs ready.
    “Storm?”
    Delta slowly grinned. “Let her rip.”
    Before Stockton could take two steps, Connie whirled backward once, leg flying well above her head, and in one bone crunching second, her heel connected with his salt and pepper beard, snapping his head backward with the rest of his body following. In one loud thud, he landed face first on the gravel below, and there he stayed. The veritable fighting machine took one of them out before the other two could even blink.
    “Holy shit, Lyle, you see that?”
    Delta stepped next to Connie. The energy surrounding the two of them ignited the air. “Nice shot.”
    Connie’s face was granite. “You going to help or just stand there and watch?”
    Before Delta could respond, the man called Lyle stepped forward, a large, ugly scowl drawn across his even uglier face. It was hard to believe this man had ever been an infant in diapers and a crib.
    “I dunno howya did that to Stockton, little lady, but it’ll be a cold day in Alaska before any fluffball spic bitch takes me down.”
    Delta glanced sideways at Connie. She’d heard Connie called many things before, but fluffball was a new one.
    “Fluffball?” Connie mocked, shaking her head. As she uttered the last syllable, Lyle rushed them. In a flash, Delta’s left fist struck the third man in the middle of the throat sending him crashing against a lightpost. From the corner of her eye, Delta saw Connie take one step and dispose of Lyle with a jump kick to his sternum. The blow knocked both wind and spit from the man as he reeled