Chapter 50
G reen beer is flowing, and raucous laughter and conversation fill the pub. I’m at the bar getting Isabelle a refill of her Cherry Pepsi when I hear something that makes my blood run cold. My woman yelping.
I whip around scanning for Isabelle, needing to get to her as quickly as possible.
I get eyes on her and see that she's backed against a table with some drunk asshole getting way too close. I shove patrons aside as I race to get across the packed space. Delilah’s trying to pull Isabelle away from the soon-to-be dead man, and Connor’s getting up in the guy’s face.
I finally reach the gut-wrenching scene and rip the guy away from Isabelle by the shoulder.
“Get the fuck off her!” I boom.
The first place I look is to Isabelle. Her face is red, and her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. The second place I look is to the man whose ass I'm about to kick. Some prick thinks he can hit on my girl and get away with it?
I twist the guy around by the shoulder I'm death-gripping, and the world stops spinning on its axis.
Brett fucking Stevens. The source of Isabelle’s pain, heartbreak, shame, and fear.
Drunk, Brett slurs, “Get the fuck off me man. I’m just catching up with an old friend. I know Izzy real intimately.” The way he speaks of her makes my skin crawl.
“Connor, get the girls out of here right now.” No further instruction is needed because Connor wraps his arm around Delilah, who's shielding a crying Isabelle from her attacker and ushers them away.
Trusting him to keep the girls safe, I momentarily push my fear for Isabelle aside so I can deal with this scum.
I shove him into the edge of the table he just had Isabelle trapped against.
“You lay another finger on her and I’ll rip it clean off your hand.”
“Oh, don’t worry Andersen, I’ve already had my fingers inside her.”
I see red.
He’s barely finished spewing his poison when I grab the collar of his shirt, cock my arm back and throw my entire bodyweight into punching him in the face. I feel, and hear, the distinct crunch of his nose breaking and blood sprays everywhere.
“What the fuck!” Brett shouts through the blood dripping into his mouth. “Who do you think you are laying a hand on me? You stupid son of a bitch! You just assaulted a police officer. YOU. ARE. OVER!” he screams.
“I don’t give a shit who you are. You touch my girl you pay for it. And your payment is long overdue.”
He laughs, spitting blood onto my shirt. His laughter sends me spiraling downwards into my rage, and I pound my fists into Brett over and over, contacting any part of his body that I can. No technique, just blind vengeance.
With every blow I land, Isabelle’s tortured words fill my ears.
Her tears. Punch . Years of pain and shame.
Punch. He lied about her and ruined her life.
Punch . He tricked her. Punch. He locked her in that room.
Punch . He bet his friends on raping her.
Punch . He stuck his tongue in her mouth.
Punch . He groped her breasts. Punch . He assaulted her with his disgusting fingers.
At that memory, I lurch back and frantically grab for his hands. I break every finger on his right hand and am halfway through his left hand when I feel small hands trying to pull me back.
The touch momentarily pulls me from my fury. If it’s Isabelle, I’m going to lose my mind because she's supposed to be gone, safe from this predator. It’s only then that I notice I'm on the floor, a knee holding Brett down by his stomach and it looks like a massacre.
“Reid, stop! We have to go, NOW.” It’s Olivia. She's pulling on my arm, trying to get me off Brett. I look around for her brother, or my brother for that matter, because one of them should’ve been keeping an eye on her and away from here.
She keeps tugging on me, trying to get me up but I’m not finished. I told Isabelle I’d kill this piece of shit, and I have some more work to do. The blood roaring in my ears dims and I hear sirens. I look down to find Brett unconscious.
Good. I hope he’s dead.
I shake Olivia off and get to my feet. “Olivia, get out of here. Go find your brother and James. Tell them it’s time.” She looks at me in shock and confusion. “GO!” I shout, and she slinks away from the crime scene.
I don’t try to run or hide. I sit down at the table that's now a wreck and wait, my blood-soaked hands clasped in my lap. The unit bursts into the bar and clears a path to me.
“We need an ambulance!” someone screams.
“Get down and put your hands behind your head!” the officer barks. Oh look, Daddy Stevens. I wonder if he’s a sexual predator like his good-as-dead son.
I do as he says and stop listening. Instead, I breathe deep—satisfaction settling in my bones that I got revenge for Isabelle.
For the innocent fifteen-year-old who was assaulted, suffered merciless bullying, wasn’t believed, and became a shell of herself.
And for the woman I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with.
I hope I did enough to alleviate the pain and shame she’s carried for almost a decade because of this human garbage.
Sheriff Stevens roughly leads me out of the crowd to the squad car. I hold my head high, not an ounce of regret, because he got what he deserved.
And it was my fucking pleasure to be his executioner.