His irritation got out of control for a second, and he used a little more force than necessary. The man he grabbed screamed in pain from his broken arm, and he growled at the drunkard before pushing him aside.
The drunkard pressed his injured hand to his chest and hobbled towards the exit, sobbing like a girl. he walked further, his gaze searching for the red-haired woman.
A few seconds later, his heightened hearing caught a quiet whimper, barely audible among the dull impacts of flesh on flesh, curses, heavy breathing, and the crash of breaking furniture. He concentrated on the area where the pile of fallen bodies lay and began to break through there.
He realized with horror that the woman was out there somewhere. She was in trouble and he wouldn't feel guilty if he hurt a few people in the search process.
He stopped at the place where he saw the red-haired woman and peered at the group of men stretched out on the floor. They fought with elbows and fists. One of them was throwing his head into the stomach of the man underneath him because he was pulling his hair.
He noticed a graceful hand, almost hidden by the bodies of the fighters. She was thin, pale, and female. A hand with a light pink shine on its nails lay motionless, palm down, near the table leg. He couldn't see a single other part of the woman's body except her forearm, wrist, and palm.
He was filled with anger. The drunken idiots fell on the woman, crushing her with their large bodies so much that only two hands. Another growl came from his throat. He bent down, without looking, grabbed the first body he came across, and threw the man aside. He flew several feet and crashed into the wall with a scream. He didn't even look at him. He grabbed the other man, threw him in a different direction, and freed the woman's leg.
After a few seconds, he finally released the woman completely and fell to his knees next to her. Her head was turned towards him, but her long red hair covered her face. When he realized that the woman was not breathing, he growled again, calling for help from his officers. Slash suddenly fell to his knees opposite him. A moment later, more men came to the rescue, keeping people away from the lifeless red-haired woman.
Trying to stop the trembling in his hands, he quickly but carefully assessed the woman's condition. She had shoe marks on her buttocks, back, and thighs where men had stepped on her body. A furious growl tore through his throat. He wished he had killed those who did this to her. He was afraid that the woman had broken bones, so he turned her over with great care. Her bones were small and fragile.
He gently laid the woman on her back, estimating that she weighed about one hundred and thirty pounds and was approximately five feet four inches tall. She was wearing jeans and a pink shirt with elbow-length sleeves.
One sleeve was completely torn off as evidence that the woman was not only trampled but also wounded. Her skin was still warm. He immediately pressed his ear to her chest, did not hear her heartbeat, and let out a painful groan.
"Shit," Slash hissed, "They killed a little woman."
He stood up and felt her chest, checking for fractures, but found none. He estimated how much time had passed since he heard her whimper, and assumed that the tragedy had occurred less than a minute ago. So it's not too late. He felt the woman's ribs again, knowing that if they were broken the situation would be hopeless, but all the bones were intact.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sheriff Cooper gasped. "Touching women's tits?"
"No," Alpha growled. He tore the straps holding the vest in place, tore it off himself, and gently lifted the woman's head to use the vest as a pillow.
Alpha ignored this dialogue to concentrate on the woman, resting her head on his vest. His heart was beating erratically, but Dr. taught him how to react correctly in such situations. Joseph insisted that all officers be trained in first aid. He mentally thanked his friend and was glad that he had attended those lessons regularly, although at that moment they did not give him any pleasure.
With a trembling hand, he brushed the red hair out of the woman's face. Her human features with capricious full lips and a thin nose turned out to be very attractive. The cheek that had been pressed to the floor was a little red, but the rest of the skin was too pale. The woman was still not breathing.
He leaned lower, located the desired area, and placed his palms on her chest. He hoped that their generous size would be enough to ease the pressure on his chest and prevent bone damage. He pressed thirty times, performing chest compressions.
He tore off his shirt, crumpled it up, and put it under the woman's neck. Then he made sure her airway was clear, pinched her nose tightly, opened her jaw, and pressed his mouth to hers. He looked carefully at the woman's chest, at the creamy skin peeking out from the neckline of her pink shirt, and breathed air into her lungs. Her chest rose.
He pulled back a little, took a deep breath, covered the woman's lips with his mouth again, and exhaled another portion of air. His gaze was still focused on the neckline of the shirt, and he saw the woman's breasts expanding. He began a new cycle of chest compressions, and the small body under his hands began to twitch.