Chapter Sixteen
Derek
Three days, I watched him.
Three days, I planned how I would take him out.
Three days, my rage grew until everything I looked at was red. Every man who stepped in my path put their life at risk by saying the wrong thing to me.
I’d already beaten the hell out of three guys who thought I was an easy mark. I stepped out of the bar after having two beers. It was my limit. No matter where I was, or who I was with, I never drank more than two beers.
I didn’t want to be like him.
But I was exactly like him. I allowed my anger to get out of control. All the hard work Haizley had done, and I was pissing it away. And there wasn’t an ounce of regret.
He touched my daughter.
He almost killed her mother.
You almost killed Sam!
I told myself it wasn’t the same thing. Sam had lied to me. Betrayed our vows. It didn’t make what I did okay; I was wrong. Nothing could ever make it right, and I would pay for it for the rest of my life.
But this piece of shit touched my daughter and then beat the fuck out of her mother for trying to protect her. He beat the hell out of Kat because she caught him molesting her daughter.
There would be no guilt for what I was about to do.
It hadn’t been hard to find him; the motherfucker should have moved. Should have changed his fucking name. Should have done something to show some kind of remorse for what he’d done.
Not fucking marry a woman with three little girls.
Stacy Lewis worked the night shift as a nurse. For the last three nights, she’d been home with her family. Tonight, she had to work. Tonight, this motherfucker would try to hurt those girls. It would be the last fucking thing he ever did.
For three nights, I crept around to the back of the house, peeking in windows as I went. The house was a modest, one-story ranch with three bedrooms. The two young girls shared a room, leaving the oldest, who was two years older than Frankie, alone in her room.
Stacy had put the girls to bed hours ago before leaving for her shift at eleven.
She was fourteen fucking years old. A child he’d been living with for three years.
A child he’d been abusing for three years.
Because a leopard didn’t change his fucking spots, not until someone skinned the motherfucker.
I peered through the glass, the sheer curtains obstructing my view. But not enough to see the door open. Not enough to see the outline of the man who had no business being in that room.
That was all I needed.
I ran to the front of the house and pushed the door open. Son of a bitch should have locked it first. Not that a locked door would keep me out. I made my way toward the back of the house when I heard her cry.
“Richard, stop!”
“I told you, Hannah, call me Daddy.” His words sent a chill down my spine.
“Stop, Daddy.”
“That’s it, baby.”
My hands clenched into fists moments before I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him off the little girl. She screamed, but the sound was muffled by the blood roaring in my ears.
Richard stumbled backward, his pants undone, his face twisted in shock and fear.
He opened his mouth... to explain, to beg, to lie.
.. but I didn’t give him a chance. My fist connected with his jaw before a single word could form, and the crack of bone against bone was the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard.
“Who are—” he started, but I was already moving.
I grabbed him by the throat and dragged him toward the front of the house. He clawed at my hand, his fingers digging into my wrist, trying to pry himself free.
It was pathetic.
Useless.
I barely felt it.
All I could see was Frankie’s terrified face; all I could hear was her small voice saying, Stop, Daddy, and the red haze took over.
Richard’s feet scrambled against the floor, trying to find purchase, trying to slow me down.
I yanked him harder, his body weight nothing compared to the adrenaline-stoked fury coursing through my veins.
He crashed into the doorframe on the way out.
His shoulder took the impact with a sickening thud, but I didn’t slow down.
Didn’t care.
The front door slammed open, and I threw him across the front yard like he was a sack of trash. He hit the ground hard, rolling once before trying to scramble to his feet.
Please...” he gasped, holding up his hands. “I can explain...”
I was on him before he could finish. My knee drove into his ribs, and the air left his lungs in a violent wheeze. He curled into himself, trying to protect his body, but there was nowhere to hide.
Not from this.
Not from me.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his face into the ground. Once. Twice. The wet crunch of his nose breaking barely registered. Blood sprayed onto the grass, dark and thick in the dim porch light.
“She’s a child,” I snarled, my voice barely human. I hit him again, my knuckles splitting against his cheekbone.
My hands found his throat, squeezing, watching his eyes go wide with terror. His hands clawed at mine, weak and desperate. His face turned red, then purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His pulse hammered against my palms until it started to slow.
I wanted to kill him, but he deserved so much fucking more. Deserved to suffer the way those girls inside that house suffered. The way Frankie suffered. The way Kat suffered.
I let go of his throat long enough to drive my fist into his face again. And again. And again. Blood splattered over my hands, warm and sticky. His head snapped to the side with each impact.
My hands found his throat again, squeezing with every ounce of strength I had. His eyes bulged, his face going from purple to gray. His struggles were weak twitches as his body started to shut down.
I faintly heard someone call my name. Hands grabbed my shoulders, trying to pull me back. I shook them off, my focus entirely on the piece of shit beneath me who was still breathing when he shouldn’t be.
“Get the fuck off me,” I snarled.
“Stop, brother! You’re going to kill him.”
Arms wrapped around my chest and shoulders like a band of metal, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t break free. Someone hauled me backward, and I roared in frustration as Richard’s throat slipped from my hands.
“Let me go!” I fought harder, my elbow connecting with something solid. Someone grunted in pain but didn’t release the hold they had on me.
“Derek,” a familiar voice hissed. “It’s me—Jack.”
His words barely penetrated the red haze consuming my vision. I didn’t care who it was. I needed to finish him. Needed to make sure he never touched another child.
“He’s done, Derek,” Jack whispered in my ear, steady and firm. “He’s done. You got him.”
“He touched my daughter, Jack! He touched Frankie,” I growled, still straining against the man holding me.
“Look at him.” I recognized Gunner’s voice behind me and my struggling slackened. I knew I’d never break free from his giant ass. “Look,” he ground out.
Richard was a broken mess on the lawn, blood pooling beneath his head, his face unrecognizable. He was barely conscious, making weak gurgling sounds as he tried to breathe through his shattered nose and mouth.
But he was still breathing.
“Let me finish him, Jack,” I begged, my voice raw. I struggled against Gunner’s arms that were locked tight around me.
“No, not here,” he argued. “Not in front of the whole fucking neighborhood.”
My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, my body shaking with adrenaline and fury that had nowhere to go. Gunner’s arms loosened around me, and I looked toward the front door.
There she stood, outlined by the light coming from inside the house. Fourteen years old, with a heavy blanket wrapped around her; though I knew it wasn’t to ward off the evening chill.
Its purpose was security.
“You need to leave,” she said softly as sirens sounded in the distance. “Before they get here.”
“We can take him with us,” I offered, taking a step toward her. She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She stood a little taller.
“No, he needs to go back to prison, and my mother needs to know what he did.” She looked at the man moaning on the ground. “I won’t tell them who you are.”
I hesitated as the sound of sirens drew closer.
“Go,” she urged.
“Come on,” Jack hissed. He and Gunner climbed onto their bikes, and I waited. I’d go to prison if it meant this girl would be safe. And in prison, I could finish him off.
She opened the blanket, and I saw her ripped nightgown. “Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t have to thank me.”
“You shouldn’t have been the one to protect me.”
“What will you tell them?” I asked. I didn’t want to leave her alone.
“That an angel saved her,” an old, grizzled voice said as he stepped up on the porch. The girl leaned into him when he put his arm around her.
I snorted at the description. I was the furthest thing from an angel.
“Please go,” she pleaded.
I nodded and ran to my truck. My eyes met hers in the rearview mirror as she took a deep breath and huddled down on the steps while she waited for the cops to come.
Could I trust her?
Something in my chest told me I could. That she wouldn’t bite the hand that saved her. I had contacts in the prison in Little Rock; from there I’d make contacts at the prison here in Pennsylvania. If he made it that far, he wouldn’t make it further.
I drove to the hospital, Jack and Gunner on my tail. When I pulled into the parking lot, I searched for the car that had become familiar and pulled up beside it.
“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, his words laced with anger and impatience.
“Get out of here, Jack. I don’t want the bitch to see you.”
He and Gunner hadn’t worn their cuts. We weren’t in Silver Shadows’ territory. Even still, Gunner didn’t blend into a crowd by any stretch of the imagination.
“Trust me,” I urged.
The two men sped off to the other side of the lot, refusing to leave me alone. I leaned against my truck while I waited for her to come out. She would have gotten a call by now.
The automatic doors opened, and Stacy came running out. Her car beeped and started up as she rushed across the parking lot. She pulled on the handle to open the door, and I slammed my hand against it, holding it closed.
Her eyes widened as she stared at my hand.
“You fucking failed,” I growled. “You let a known pedophile into your home and left him alone with your daughters.”
“He wasn’t—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. You knew exactly who and what he fucking was.”
“Is he dead?” she asked, the denial dropping from her tone. I didn’t miss the fact that she asked about him, not her daughters.
“No, but if you defend him. If you bring him back into your home, he will be. And so will you,” I promised. “I’ll be fucking watching.”
“My girls—” she started.
“You don’t give a fuck about your girls. You’re damn lucky I didn’t take them with me. Give them a home with a mother who would fucking protect them. Not lie about the man who was abusing them.”
“He wasn’t. Richard wouldn’t do that.”
“He fucking did it before, and you defended him. Lied to the fucking courts for him,” I snarled, stepping closer and letting her know I knew exactly what she did. Her eyes widened in fear. “I’m watching you, bitch.”
I clipped her shoulder as I walked past, pushing her into the side of her car. Haizley would have been proud of me. I stayed in control. I didn’t beat the fuck out of her the way I had Richard.
That was fucking progress.
But I knew someone who owed me her life. And it wouldn’t take much to convince Indie to come here and beat the fuck out of this woman if she didn’t protect her daughters.
And I would sleep guilt free.