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Lulu bites her lip, suddenly looking very guilty. Guess I’m about to find out what the missing piece of the puzzle is.
I give my future wife a dark look. I do not like surprises.
I shove the front door open, uncaring of who it hits.
“There better be a good reason you’re hammering on my door,” I growl, stepping out.
A large man, maybe an inch taller than my six-foot frame and as wide as a linebacker, staggers out of the way of the door. His face is as red as his hair, but he recovers quickly.
“That whore of yours put her hands on my boy,” he roars, pointing wildly at the RV.
“The fuck did you just say?”
Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.
“Repeat what you just said,” I order, stepping closer.
“Rob, please, let’s just go back to the camper,” his wife begs.
“No,” he yells, ripping his arm away from her. “That bitch touched my son.” He points at a teen who stands sniveling behind them. He’s cradling his wrist to his chest. “Get her out here. She needs a man to teach her a lesson.”
My hand wraps around his throat like a vise.Where’s a knife when you need it?I imagine sinking it between his third and fourth rib before slicing it across the skin of his neck.
A calmness flows through me with the knowledge that I’ll do just that one day.
He tries to fight me, but we’re too close. He can’t get a swing on any of his punches.
“You don’t ever talk about my wife like that,” I hiss. “She did that?” I ask the kid, nodding to his wrist.
He gives a frantic nod.
“Why?”
He looks at his mother for the answer.
“I didn’t ask her. Why?”
“Because I pushed the kid.” He shrugs, and my blood freezes. “She was being annoying. Her and the other brat were running around, so I just tripped her a little, and then her psycho mom came and pushed me over. Everyone laughed, fucking bitch.” He’s nearly crying again.
I release my hold on his dad’s neck and latch my hand onto his shoulder instead. Pulling forward, I bend him slightly and deliver a punch to the solar plexus. Air shoots out of him.
“Looks like it’s your family who needs a lesson.”
“He’s fifteen years old. She’s a grown woman,” the wife defends, pointing behind me.
I was wrong. His family members aren’t the only ones. Lulu is in need of another lesson. I don’t glance back. I know better than to look away from a threat, even one gasping for air.
“Is it true? Did you hit him?” I ask Lulu.
“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky. “But he deserved it,” she declares, her tone now confident.
“He’s a child!” the boy’s mom yells.
“And she’s a little girl. That boy is almost bigger than I am, and he thought it was funny to push her to the ground. He deserved what he got, and I’m not sorry.” Something tells me those last words were for me.
“Go inside,” I tell her calmly.
I fill with pride when I hear her do it.
