Chapter Eighteen #2
That text had me smiling. Yes, he’d offered—demanded—to join me this evening, but I thought it better to arrive on my own and held firm despite his wicked attempts to change my mind.
Ryder had seen Kenny in a variety of moods, so I wasn’t worried about how Kenny would appear to Ryder, but I thought approaching him one-on-one would seem less confrontational.
I didn’t want Kenny to feel as though we were ganging up on him.
I also didn’t want him to think Ryder had any influence on my decision to sell the house.
Of course, he had influence since we couldn’t seem to make an important decision without each other these days.
However, the decision ultimately came down to my mother and me.
Ryder made it clear he would not attempt to sway my choice beyond reassurances and support, no matter what I chose.
I wasn’t sure how to explain that to Kenny, so it seemed best to handle this on my own.
I couldn’t remember the last time my brother and I did anything together, just the two of us.
Telling him I wanted to sell the house he lived in didn’t exactly qualify as quality time, but maybe we could share a beer and find some common ground.
Wishful thinking, Alex.
Since when had I become an optimist? Must be Ryder’s influence.
After replying to Ryder that I loved him as well, I grabbed the six-pack I’d picked up at the gas station, exited the car, and went into the house, where I deposited the beer in the refrigerator.
The place wasn’t quite as messy as I’d expected. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kenny said he hadn’t slept there since I moved out. That had to be a good thing, right? If he were consistently staying elsewhere, maybe he’d be quick to get on board with selling the house.
In theory, I had an hour until Kenny arrived, plenty of time to get our small yard in decent shape. At least city officials wouldn’t assume we’d abandoned the place if they happened to drive by.
I yanked off my T-shirt, dropped it on a kitchen chair, and made my way to the small shed where we kept our mower.
An hour and ten minutes later, I had the yard mowed and edged, bushes trimmed, and all clippings bagged at the curb for the upcoming yard waste pickup.
Despite the evening hour, the heat hadn’t waned, and sweat poured down my bare chest from my head.
Good thing Ryder wasn’t here. He’d be too distracted and trying to get the rest of my clothing off, which, of course, I’d be able to resist because I had far more self-control than my self-indulgent boyfriend.
I quickly glanced at the sky to make sure lightning wasn’t about to strike me dead.
As I trudged up the stairs, my phone chimed from my back pocket.
He there yet?
Nope. Got the yard cleaned up. I’ll hang here until 8.
A heart and an eggplant emoji were all the response I got to that. Chuckling, I stowed the phone back in my pocket and headed in through the sliding glass doors at the back of the house. One of those beers sounded terrific, and Kenny was late enough that I didn’t feel bad not waiting for him.
I washed my filthy hands in the kitchen sink, then bent over and splashed cool water on my overheated face. Relief flowed over me as my body temperature returned to normal. As I grabbed a clean dishtowel and patted it against my face, the creak of the front door announced Kenny’s arrival.
“In the kitchen.” The towel somewhat muffled my shout, but he’d figure it out. I tossed the towel on the table and grabbed my shirt as his footsteps drew closer. “Hey, Ken,” I called as I pulled the T-shirt over my head.
He didn’t respond, which could be a bad sign for how this chat might go. So much for my foolish dream of a smooth and mature conversation. I tugged my shirt down as the footsteps stopped. The fabric cleared my eyes, revealing a man standing in my kitchen who was not my brother.
“What the fuck?” I stepped back on instinct, colliding with the counter at my back.
“Where’s Kenny?” The guy was tall, at least six feet, and moderately muscled, wearing black jeans, a similarly colored tank top, and heavy combat boots.
Who the hell wore combat boots in eighty-five-degree weather?
He had countless tattoos and dark, buzz-cut hair with scruff to match, but what gave me the chills, despite the heat, was the menacing violence in his gaze.
And the baseball bat. The fucking guy carried a metal baseball bat in his right hand.
What the hell did you get yourself into this time, Kenny?
“I asked you a fucking question?” The guy strode toward me with long, heavy steps that reverberated through the quiet house.
There were multiple ways to play this, but I immediately clocked that my usual surly attitude would get me in a world of shit. “I don’t know,” I said, raising my hands in surrender.
The guy’s dark eyes narrowed with disbelief.
“I’m serious. He was supposed to meet me here, but he, uh, he never showed.”
Fifteen minutes late, never showed, same difference. Whatever got this guy to leave without destroying my house.
Or breaking my bones.
The guy looked me up and down with a sneer that did nothing to settle my racing heart.
“You his brother?”
The truth? A lie? My mind spiraled as I tried to decide which was the better answer.
“Uh… yeah. I am.”
“Hmm.” He stood so close I could smell his damn deodorant and see a thin, faded scar transecting his left cheek.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t think he’s been here in a while, so…”
So you should get the fuck out of my house.
He stared.
“If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
The guy laughed as though I’d said something hilarious.
A bead of sweat rolled down my spine, leaving an itchy-as-hell trail, but I didn’t so much as squirm.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna be good enough.” The guy turned his back and strode across the kitchen, farther from me.
I blew out an unsteady breath and sagged against the counter.
As a poor gay teen with no father figure, an unwell mother, and an enormous attitude problem, I’d been in fights.
I’d been bullied and picked on in my middle and high school years, but it had been a damn long time since I’d used my fists to make any point.
And I’d certainly never gone toe-to-toe with a man wielding a weapon.
On the other side of the kitchen, he turned back and glared at me while he slapped the bat against his palm. “Your brother owes me money. A lot of fucking money.”
My stomach bottomed out.
Fuck, Kenny.
“I’ll make sure he knows. And pays.”
The guy smirked and started toward me at a slow clip, still thwacking the bat against his palm. He looked so menacing, I could barely keep my knees from trembling.
“He already knows. He knew when he sold my product and pocketed the money two months ago.”
“Shit,” I whispered.
His smirk grew colder, if that was possible.
“He knew last month when I tracked him down and didn’t break his fucking knees.” The guy shrugged. “I musta been having a good day. He knew two weeks ago when I told him what would happen if he didn’t have my money today.”
“I don’t have any idea where he is.”
“Want to know what I told him I’d do to him?”
There was only one possible answer to that question. “No.”
“Told him I’d break his fucking legs.” Thwack.
Okay, guess he planned to tell me anyway.
“Said I’d bash his face in for good measure.” Thwack. “
I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to snap at him, and tried to keep my posture relaxed. Part of me wanted to lunge forward, get up in his face, and tell him to fuck off.
Thwack.
But he had that damn bat, and I had a sickening feeling it wasn’t for show.
I took a breath and shifted my shoulders, which were coiling tighter by the second. “I really don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in weeks. He was supposed to meet me here hours ago, but never showed.”
Hours, a few minutes, who cared? I’d tell any lie I had to get this asshole to leave. Let him believe Kenny stood me up, which was most likely true, and now I had a reason as to why.
“Here’s the thing… I want my money.”
“Okay.” Money, I could do, maybe. I had some money from working this weekend. “How much does he owe you?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
“Jesus Christ.” I staggered back a step, colliding with the cabinets. “What the fuck?”
The guy shrugged. “Woulda been a fuckton less if he’d paid on time.”
Of course it would have. I had some cash I could get my hands on, but nowhere near twenty grand.
There was another option, but my stomach soured at the thought of asking Ryder.
He’d already done so much for me and put up with my brother without a single complaint.
Now I was supposed to ask him for thousands of dollars to keep Kenny from getting his ass beaten.
Ryder would do it without so much as a second of hesitation, and it wouldn’t put a dent in his wallet, but I fucking hated it. I was tired of family problems trying to infiltrate our relationship.
But what choice did I have?
You could let Kenny learn a damn hard lesson.
No. I couldn’t. Not this kind of lesson. Maybe if this jackass planned to do nothing more than scare and threaten Kenny, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing I could have prevented violence, and I didn’t.
Fuck.
I sighed. “I can get your money.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re shitting me.”
“No, I’m not. Just let me make a call.”
He chewed the corner of his lip as he let my offer marinate, and after a few seconds, he chuckled. “You know what, I think I’m gonna pass.”
I blinked. “W-what?” He didn’t want the money?
“Yeah, you see, I don’t want your money. I want my money. And you don’t have that. Kenny does.”
What the hell did it matter? “Money is money. It’s all fucking green.”
He laughed again. “I think I like you.” Then he muttered, “Too bad.” He tilted his neck to the side, sending a loud crack through the quiet kitchen.
“This is about more than money. This is about Kenny thinking he can fuck with me and get away with it. I let your ass bail him out, and he doesn’t learn a lesson, does he? You got kids?”
“Uh, no.”
“I do. I got a few. Three, maybe four, and you gotta teach them. Can’t do every fucking thing for them.”
This person had children? And he didn’t know for sure how many? What the fuck?
“So…”
“So, I think I’m gonna do somethin’ that’ll teach my man Kenny a real lesson.”
I never saw it coming. He swung that bat so fast it moved like the snap of a whip, but I sure as hell felt it connect with the side of my knee.
Pain burst through my leg, and I lost control of the muscles. My knee buckled, and I went down hard with a loud cry. He hit me again before I could register my body position on the floor, this time across the ribs. It hurt a million times more than the leg. I screamed and curled up on instinct.
I could feel him step closer, so I mindlessly kicked out, connecting with what was probably a shin.
He grunted. “I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.” Then he chuckled. “Actually, I woulda have, but you shouldn’t have.”
This time, he kicked me with his fucking combat boot, sending me sliding across the kitchen floor. I tucked in, trying to protect my vital organs as he came at me again and again with his boot and the bat.
I became a ball of burning agony, absorbing blows I could no longer distinguish between.
All I could think of was how grateful I was to have convinced Ryder to stay home. As excruciating as this beating was, seeing someone assault Ryder in this way would be unbearable.
He’d lose his shit when he saw me bruised and a battered messed.
If I made it out of here.
The next blow to my torso made my body convulse, a painful cough that tore through my chest like fire.
The guy—I’d never learned his name—grabbed my hair, yanking my head off the floor. “Think my message will put a fire under Kenny’s ass?”
“Fuck… you,” I slurred. Every inhalation felt like spikes through my chest, and getting those two words out nearly killed me.
“Not yet?” His fist flew at my face, but by that point, I was too weak and injured to react in time.
A detonation of pain burst through my cheek as his knuckles made contact. Blood filled my mouth, then dribbled down my chin as I cried out.
The guy chuckled. “Yeah, that’s better. I think he’ll get the message now. The face always does it.”
He abruptly released my hair, and my head fell to the linoleum floor with a sickening thud.
I barely even felt it over all the other throbbing.
The eye he’d hit swelled until I could no longer see.
Forced to stare at him through only one eye, I tried my best to keep tabs on his movements as he circled me, admiring his handiwork.
He grabbed my hair, lifting my head again. I couldn’t hide the flinch as I prepared for another of those brutal blows to my face.
But it didn’t come this time. He chuckled and leaned down. “Make sure you tell Kenny I stopped by.”
He dropped my head again, then straightened with a harsh laugh. The last thing I remember was the bottom of his heavy combat boot careening toward my face.
Someone should tell him he’d stepped on a tack, and it lodged in the sole of his boot.
Pain burst through my head.
Ryder…
Then nothing but blackness.