Page 47 of Shattered Hearts
My fingers close around the spindles of a wooden chair in Riley’s den.
I crown him so hard, the whole chair comes apart. Goatee crumbles to the ground, gasping and sputtering.
He coughs up blood.
“You attacked my wife.” I brandish one of the fallen chair legs like a bat and bring it down hard on his spine. “Must be fucking suicidal.”
Prostate at my feet, he groans. I take the opportunity to kick the shit out of his face.
Tap-tap.Molars hitting Riley’s hardwood floor? Music to my ears.
“So cocky.” The slurred words eke out of Goatee’s bloody mouth as he gathers himself to his knees. “Just because…she’s your…whore.”
The piece of shit hocks a bloody spitball at my feet, his discolored saliva soon dripping off the toe guard of my favorite combat boots. A little puddle collects on the floor as silence falls between us.
“You’re right about one thing. She’s mine.” I crouch down so we’re eye level. “But she’s nobody’s whore.”
I plunge my fist into his abdomen, the biting edge of the brass knuckles puncturing his flesh. Warm blood coats my fist. Goatee doubles over, mouth dispensing gibberish at the new holes in his chest. I fist the back of his collar and force him toward Riley’s kitchen.
Morbid anticipation mounts inside me. My bone-deep rage is the cake, and the pleasure of harming him is the frosting smeared all over the top.
I dunk this dipshit’s face into Riley’s dirty dishwater. The aqueousclangthat follows is either his head colliding with a saucepan beneath the surface or the sound of his hollow skull smacking against the drain. I hold his head down with my left hand and grope around her kitchen counter with my right.
My fingers connect with the handle of an iron skillet. Excitement mixes in with deadly, crackling anticipation, changing the color of the flames inside me. I release the struggling brute and watch his head fly back out of the water, just in time to catch a mouthful of cast iron.
I swing the pan at his ugly mug like a Hall of Fame hitter.
He goes down hard.
The weight of his giant body hitting the floor shakes the room. A few more of his teeth pitter-patter to the floor.
Sick satisfaction spreads over me.
Digging my hand under his head, I clutch his collar once again and drag him back out into Riley’s den. Letting off some steam did me good. I didn’t realize how much tension was in my muscles until I let all of it out on him.
I almost want to thank him.
After I re-deposit him on the carpet, I grip a fistful of his hair and yank his head up from the ground.
“No one hurts my wife.” I shove the barrel of my gun into his disgusting mouth and cock it. “Ready to die?” Fear ignites his glassy, half-conscious eyes. “Because I will fucking kill you.”
Behind me, a floorboard creaks. There’s another one?
My head whips around to assess the threat.
It’s…Riley.
She emerges from her bedroom, face wet with tears and pale with fright. Dust, wood splinters, and specks of fractured glass dot her black dress slacks and violet top.
Seeing her there, free of bullet holes and unharmed, plucks me right out of my violent rampage.
But as soon as I register her horrified face, I realize what Riley’s just walked in on. I’m tossed back in time to that day…the day Brianne walked in on me in a similar situation.
A half-dead foe at my fingertips, who I’d beaten unrecognizable only minutes before. His blood dripping from my brass knuckles and spattered on my face, along with various other surfaces in that place. Bri’s terrified expression as she beheld me in all my gruesome glory signified the beginning of the end for us.
There’s a line. Bri stood on one side, and I on the other. Her job was to save lives.
Mine was to end them.