Chapter Thirty
Damon
It’s almost six in the evening, and I’m still in my office, struggling to keep my frustration under control.
Despite an intense workout earlier, my body is tight with tension.
My baser instincts urge me to grab Joslyn and hide her away until the danger passes, while simultaneously hunting down Bill and beating the shit out of him.
The logical, more mature side knows that hiring security is a smart move and probably the right one.
However, it’s frustrating that she doesn’t want my help or protection.
She said she felt safe with me. Sure, I’m not a professional, but I can hold my own.
I played hockey, for God’s sake. I know how to throw a punch.
Does this mean she doesn’t trust me to take care of her?
She was livid at the Detective and me this afternoon.
Okay, to be fair, her anger was justified.
We did go all caveman on her, which in hindsight wasn’t the best course of action, given her history, but that damn detective wasn’t taking her safety seriously.
Maybe he doesn’t care, but I do, so that’s not something I’m leaving to chance, no matter how pissed off she gets.
Lexi’s ring tone interrupts my spiraling thoughts, and I answer on autopilot.
“Hi, honey.”
“Dad,” the fear in her voice is all it takes to grab my undivided attention. Something’s wrong.
“Are you okay? Honey, what’s wrong?” I’m already grabbing my keys and heading out of my office.
“Dad, he’s here, and he’s so mad.” She’s crying, and I can barely hear what she’s saying. I have to strain to listen to her because my heart is beating so hard I can barely breathe.
“Who’s there, Lex? Who’s mad?” I can feel panic trying to pull me under, but I shut that shit down hard. Someone is trying to hurt my baby girl.
“Carter. Dad, he’s so mad. I’m scared.” Her trembling voice is ripping my heart out.
“Where are you? Are you safe? I’m coming, honey.”
“I’m in the bathroom with the door locked,” she whispers. I hear a pounding in the background, and I’m suddenly terrified of what might happen to her before I can get there. I make a split-second decision.
“He’s trying to get in, Dad! What do I do?” The terror and panic in her voice is agonizing, and it hits me that I won’t get there before he can get to her. I skid to a stop by the door to Joslyn’s office, using every bit of resolve I have to stop my alarm from taking over.
“Jos, call 911. Send them to Lexi’s place. Carter’s got her trapped in the bathroom,” I shout, as I rush into her office, grabbing a pen from her desk.
She doesn’t even bat an eye. She just picks up her phone and dials 911 as I scribble down the address.
“Go. I’ve got this,” she assures me calmly.
I give her a grateful nod and sprint to the elevator, but anxiety has me headed toward the stairs when the elevator takes too long to arrive.
“I’m coming, Lex. Hold on, baby girl!” I shout desperately over the sound of wood splintering in the background. I start praying like her life depends on it, because I’m terrified that it does.
“The police are coming, honey. Hang in there.” It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep my voice calm for her sake. My teeth are clenched, my phone is in a death grip, and I’m running full-out to my car.
“Oh god, Dad, he’s breaking down the door.
What do I do?” I can hear the distress in her voice, but I don’t know what to tell her.
Helplessness almost overwhelms me. I hear a crash, and my daughter’s terrified scream before the line goes dead.
My hands grip the steering wheel as I peel out of the parking lot like I’m in a movie, breaking every traffic law known to man in my frantic rush to get to her.
It feels like a hundred years later when I pull up in front. I don’t even turn off the car. I throw it in park and race toward her building. I don’t bother with the elevator, knowing she’s on the third floor. I hit the stairs two at a time, thanking God that I’ve got her extra key.
I fumble with the key but finally get the door open. Dashing down the hall to her bedroom, I burst in on my worst nightmare.
My daughter’s lying hunched up on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands held up to shield herself. That piece of shit is holding her hair and standing over her with his fist raised.
“You bitch!” he snarls at her, and I lose my fucking mind.
Not my daughter, motherfucker!
I reach for him, my vision red with rage.
I yank him off her, my anger and fear for her safety giving me strength.
My fist smashes into his shocked face and sends him flying across the room.
He lands with a heavy thud against the closet door.
Thank God, my grip on his arm was startling enough for him to let go of Lexi’s hair first. I reach for her, pulling her into my arms.
“Dad!” she sobs with relief, but I can feel her trembling as I tighten my arms around her.
“Are you okay?” I ask her while keeping an eye on Carter, who is slowly getting to his feet.
I hold her tight as I risk a look at her face.
The bright red mark blooming under her right eye tells me everything I need to know.
A cold fury rolls through me as I turn back to look at the piece of shit that hurt my daughter.
All I can see is angry entitlement. Jesus, the arrogance of this fucker.
I don’t see an ounce of remorse. Fuck that shit.
It’s time to change that; this boy’s about to learn what it’s like to confront a man, not a girl.
I gently but firmly move my daughter behind me because I’m not done with this fucker. The rage riding me won’t be denied. I turn, fists up.
“I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with,” he sneers with misplaced confidence.
What the fuck? Who the hell does this kid think he is?
Does he genuinely believe he’s above the law?
Yes, that’s exactly what he thinks. Then, it hits me, he’s not concerned with consequences because there haven’t been any for him, and I know right then that this isn’t the first time he’s done this.
“Do you know who my father is?” He’s up in my face now, and the condescension inherent in that statement is surreal.
There it is, the source of his confidence, the reason he doesn’t understand the repercussions of his actions.
I don’t give a fuck who his father is, but he’s about to find out who I am.
“I don’t give a flying fuck who your dad is, you arrogant prick. No one raises a hand at my daughter.” I drop my arms, and he immediately swings, just like I knew he would. I’m not an idiot, so there’s no way I was swinging first. But now? Now it’s on. I bat his puny fist to the side.
“My turn, you piece of shit.”
My fist connects with his right cheek, and he reels back.
I stare him down. I want that fucker to swing again.
He’s not getting away that easily. He tries again, but I block it and smash my fist into his stomach.
His knees give out, but I catch his left arm, holding him upright.
I look him straight in the eye as he makes another feeble attempt to swing at me.
I don’t even move away. I grab his fist and hold it, seeing hesitation start to form in his eyes as he realizes he might not win this fight, but still, I see no remorse or regret.
So be it. I let go of him completely and step back, because I know this kid is dumb enough to swing again. He does, and then I let loose.
“We. Don’t. Hit. Women!” My voice is granite, and I emphasize my point with a jab to his torso for each word. I’m not even using my full strength at this point. I’m about to let the last one fly when I feel my daughter’s hand on my arm.
“Dad… I think he’s done. Dad. Stop!” she says shakily, trying to pull my arm away.
I take a deep breath and drop my hands to my side, breathing hard.
Fury is still riding me, but I know my daughter is right.
That’s enough. Carter falls forward on the bed, groaning, but neither of us moves to help him.
He can lie there for all I care. I pull my daughter into my arms, trying to get my anger under control.
“Are you okay, Lex? How’s your head, baby girl? I’m so sorry I didn’t get here in time.” I try not to hold her too tightly while frantically brushing her hair out of her eyes so I can get a look at her face.
Her right eye is swollen and red, and there’s a small cut on her temple near the hairline. It makes me want to punch him all over again when I see the damage he’s done. I pull her toward the door.
“Let’s get some ice on that, honey.” I guide her gently out the door and down the hall. “The police are on their way.”
“Hands where we can see ’em! Now!”
I look up to see two policemen pointing their guns at me from the living room. Shit.
“No! He’s my dad. It’s okay. He’s not the one. Don’t shoot!” My daughter’s voice is high and panicked as she steps in front of me, hands up in front of her.
“He’s in the bedroom. He’s in the bedroom.” She keeps repeating it until they cautiously lower their weapons.
One officer heads toward the bedroom as the other gestures toward the living room, but Lexi runs out of bravado and collapses against me, sobbing.
My heart’s in agony, and I gather her up in my arms as gently as I would have when she was a little girl, knowing that it’s going to take far more than dad hugs to fix this.
“Ambulance is on the way,” the other cop volunteers in a kinder voice.