18. Chapter Eighteen Tristan
Chapter Eighteen: Tristan
A crash jolted me from sleep, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free. Blinking away the grogginess, I scanned the shadows of my bedroom, every muscle coiled tight.
What the hell was that?
With shaking hands, I threw back the covers and maneuvered into my chair, the cold metal a harsh reminder of my reality. My arms protested as I rolled away from the bed, but there was no time for pain right now. Adrenaline surged through me, hot and prickling under my skin, as I wheeled towards the door of the bedroom.
Something was very wrong. I could tell. I could feel it in my bones.
Stiffness crept into my muscles, an unwelcome guest that reminded me of the day's grueling physical therapy exercises. Just because we’d had the babies didn’t mean I could stop working–if anything, I needed to work harder.
I needed to be able to walk so I could be able to help.
But right then, I wasn’t worried about that.
The living room loomed ahead, a cavernous space shrouded in the twilight of the Delaware house. My arms ached with each push of the wheels, the burn a bitter testament to the hours spent trying to coax strength back into them. I powered through the pain, driven by a need to ensure everything was secure.
I could hear people chatting in the distance. Maybe they weren’t as startled as I was.
I swept my gaze across the room, searching for anomalies in the darkness, for anything out of place in the domain I ruled with an iron fist softened by necessity.
As I paused, taking a ragged breath, the faintest shift caught my eye—a glimmer in the reflection of the window. My pulse quickened. David, the calm and collected neighbor Adriana wanted to make friends with, materialized like a phantom in the glass, his approach as silent as the grave.
He stepped out of the bathroom…and he didn’t seem lost at all.
A cold jolt shot through my veins, though I fought to keep the surprise from registering on my face. The reflection betrayed his proximity, his figure inching closer with the stealth that only a predator could master.
I’d seen that look before. This man wasn’t here to be my friend.
This man was here to kill me.
I barely had time to register the chill creeping into my bones before a shadow loomed larger in the periphery of my vision. David was moving in, and every instinct screamed that it wasn't for a neighborly visit. My hands tightened on the wheels of my chair, the cool metal biting into my palms as I braced myself.
"David," I said, my voice steady despite the pulsing fear, "if this is about territory, let's talk like civilized men."
But how could it be about territory? How could this man want anything but my life?
But my children’s lives?
His silence was an answer of its own, a harbinger of the violence that hung heavy in the air between us. The reflection showed him unfazed, moving with a predator's grace—a grace that belied the danger he posed. It was no random check-in; this was personal. Adriana's face flashed in my mind, her smile the last bastion against the terror clawing at my chest, and the thought of our babies—so new to this twisted world—ripped a vow from the depths of me. Over my dead body would he touch them.
As the gap closed, the space between us suffocated with tension. Then, quick as a serpent's strike, David lunged. A thin wire gleamed dully in the dim light as it whipped toward my neck, seeking my life with a silent promise of death.
"Damn you!" I spat, reflexes kicking in hard and fast. My arms, already screaming from the day's exertions, flailed outwards, desperate to catch hold of anything that might save me from the garrote's deadly embrace. It was a fight not just against David but against my own battered body, each movement laden with both fury and agony.
With a grunt, I managed to grasp his wrists, my fingers digging in with all the strength I could muster. The wire bit into my flesh, a cruel reminder of my vulnerability, as I fought to keep it from tightening. My breath came in ragged gasps, the pain a mere backdrop to the primal need to survive.
"Think of your family, Tristan," David's voice cut through the struggle, low and taunting.
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I couldn’t.
The house—the sanctuary that should have been safe from the Callahan Legacy's violent undercurrents—was now a battleground where only one of us could emerge alive.
I had to act fast.
I rammed the edge of my wheelchair into David's stomach with everything I had, the collision forcing a grunt from his lips as he stumbled back. The wire slackened around my neck, and I sucked in a ragged breath, seizing the momentary reprieve.
"Come on, Tristan," David taunted, regaining his balance. "Is that all you've got?"
"Hardly," I shot back, voice raw. My arms were burning, protesting the continuous strain, but I couldn't—wouldn't—let that stop me. Adriana and our babies needed me; there was no room for surrender.
With a sharp pivot, I swung the chair around, aiming for his knees now. He sidestepped, but not fast enough to avoid the blow entirely. A grimace twisted his features momentarily before his hand shot out, aiming another strike.
"Adriana trusted you," I growled, dodging to the side, feeling the rush of air as his fist missed my face by inches.
“She’s sweet. I’m glad I only have to take care of you.”
“You’re not taking care of anything,” I replied. The words were barely out before I thrust forward again, using the momentum of my chair to force him against the wall. The impact rattled through my bones, but it bought me precious seconds as David grappled with the sudden shift.
"Resourceful," he acknowledged, pushing off the wall and launching a counterattack. But this time, I was ready. Ducking under his arm, I caught him off-guard with an uppercut that connected with his chin.
"Got to be," I panted, feeling every bruise and every ache, yet driven by a singular focus—to protect what was mine at all costs. Our breaths mingled in the charged air, sweat and determination clinging to us both.
"Enough, Tristan," David said, reassessing as we paused, each waiting for the other's next move. "You can't win."
"Watch me." It was a promise, a vow made with the ferocity of a man who had too much to lose. With a swift turn, I lurched forward, crashing the heavy frame of my wheelchair into his side. David grunted, the sound getting lost in the scuffle as we grappled with each other, my hands finding his wrists, keeping them away from my throat.
"Give it up, Callahan," he spat, trying to leverage himself over me.
“Hey, fuck you, man.” I retorted, adrenaline surging through me as I delivered a sharp jab to his ribs, followed by a hook to his jaw that rocked his head to the side. And then, as if the universe itself had consigned to grant me victory, David faltered, his knees buckling beneath him.
He grabbed my shirt, dragged me along with him.
This was…really bad.
I had limited mobility and my chair had been helpful so far. I might have gotten a few punches in, but David was still in the game. And now I was outside of my chair, on the ground, nose pressed against the cold tile of my own home.
My heart pounded in my chest as he tried to shuffle onto me, his fingers scrabbling at my throat. But in this arena of desperation, I found an animalistic strength within me. Every fear, every torment fueled me, turning into raw energy that burst forth from deep within.
I clenched my fists and took aim at his face, delivering a flurry of blows - right hook, left jab, repeat.
David reeled back under the onslaught but didn't retreat. His eyes glinted with insubordination and fury. Then with a feral growl, he lunged for me once more.
But I wasn't allowing it. Not tonight. Not ever. My family's lives, their safety, hinged on this moment. With a roar that echoed the primal instinct to protect, I stopped him dead in his tracks with a hard punch straight to his nose.
There was a sickening crunch as David’s head snapped back. Blood burst from his nostrils like a broken dam, splattering across my knuckles and staining the pristine tile floor beneath us.
David’s hand shot up to his face, but it was too late. The damage had been done. This was the opening I had been fighting for, the moment of weakness I needed.
I kicked out hard with my left leg, driving my heel into his stomach with all the force I could muster. David gasped, doubling over as he tried to regain his breath.
I had limited use of my legs. This was fucking agony. Each kick made me practically double down with pain.
But the sight of David wavering, losing his ground, spurred me on. My family needed me. I needed to win.
I kept at it, fueled adrenaline and the thought of my family.
"One... more... time," I muttered, gritting through the pain. With an effort that stole my breath away, I kicked out again. This time my foot connected with a satisfying thud against his chest.
I needed to keep him down so I could kill him. I didn’t have any weapons on me, so I'd have to get creative. I gritted my teeth, sucking air into my lungs and finding a reservoir of strength in the image of Adriana, cradling our children at her breast.
"Screw you, Miller," I hissed through gritted teeth, the effort of every syllable laced with pain and determination. My foot shot out, aimed square for his face this time. There came an audible crack, a small grunt escaping David's lips as he fell backward onto the polished marble floor.
I dragged myself over to him, each pull of my arms sending specks of light flickering across my vision. But I couldn't afford to pass out. Not when there was still a threat in my house.
Reaching David, I lifted my hand and brought it crashing down onto his face. Then I did it again. And again. Each punch was more painful than the one before, but they were also more satisfying. They were for every sleepless night worrying about Adriana and the kids. They were for every life taken by his hand in service to some unknown boss, some unknown cause.
My knuckles split under the force of each hit, blood splattering across David's face until it was impossible to tell whose was whose. But it didn't matter; all that mattered was that he was no longer a threat.
I kept at it, my punches growing weaker but never faltering. The taste of victory was laced with the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. My vision blurred, the edges of my consciousness starting to fray.
Fuck. I was in so much pain.
But if David Miller was a killer…well, fuck, what did that make his wife?