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What the hell, right? Gotta work with what you got.
I chuck it at the dirty-blond head of Nate’s assailant, watch with satisfaction as it hits him, glancing off his forehead, the knife wavering.
Feinting to the side, I pull the hand with the knife away from Nate, and punch the guy in the side, then, before he has a chance to recover, send an upper hand chop at his throat. Once is not enough, so I punch him again, then twist and strike with my hard, bony elbow, choking him.
His hold on Nate falls away, and I spare Nate a worried glance as he stumbles away and falls to the floor.
Time to blow this joint.
“West! Get Nate, take him out of here.” The knife clatters to the floor, and my guy is now grabbing his throat and making choking noises.
I shove him hard, right against Nate’s dad, sending them both crashing into the apartment.
West has the guy he’s been fighting in a chokehold. “Kash—”
“I’ve got this. Go, now.” I draw my fist back, and let it fly at the guy he’s holding. A flurry of punches to the solar plexus, and the guy slumps over.
West grunts, releasing him, stepping over him. “See you at home. Be careful.”
I’m already moving toward Nate’s dad and the other asshole, keeping a lookout for that goddamn gun. “Yeah.”
Nate groans when West hauls him to his feet, then his knees give out again.
He’s hurt, goddammit.
Goddamn them all. I bulldoze into the duo at the door, send them crashing back. My thoughts are blazing bullets tearing through my brain. What they did…. What they did to Nate. My brain doesn’t want to wrap itself around the truth.
Much easier to kick the shit out of these fucking cunts.
I locate the gun the moment the others see it. We lunge for it, and I do my best to ignore the echoes of gunshots in my head, memories that could send me into a spin of panic.
Not now. I push the other guy away as I kick the gun, praying the safety is on, and send it crashing against the far wall. Nate’s dad comes at me, and oh man, all my hatred for him flares up, fury heating my skin and sending my heart pumping.
“You fucking asshole.” I’m so fucking pissed, I plow into him, throw him against a chair, and follow as they both go crashing down. “You piece of shit.” I kick at him, grab him, lift him and punch him in the jaw. “You sick fuck.”
The other guy grabs me from behind, but I twist and elbow him in the gut, turning and chopping at the side of his neck with the edge of my hand, and he stumbles back.
I turn back to Nate’s dad. He’s still on the floor, looking dazed, a cut over his eye leaking blood. I
wanna wrap my hands around his neck and wring it. I wanna burn this place down the ground.
Deep breaths, a tiny voice in my mind whispers. Not gonna happen, Kash, and just so you know… maybe killing this guy isn’t a good idea. Trauma or not, he’s still Nate’s dad.
Plus, you’ll be caught, and then it’s all over.
Somewhere, beyond the roaring in my ears, I think I hear sirens.
Fuck. Time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Turning, stepping over the jerks lying moaning on the floor, I make my way out.
Buildings streak by as I run down the street, not sure if the police sirens I’m hearing are real or inside my head. Getting out of the building was a blur. The whole afternoon is a blur.
After turning into side streets, pounding down sidewalk after sidewalk, I finally slow down. The adrenaline that kept me going is fading, leaving me shaking.
I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees, struggling to get my breath back.
The words I heard earlier rush back, and now everything makes sense—Nate’s aversion to being touched, the panic attacks when things get hot and heavy, when he’s not in control.
