I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(69)

Kay kisses me lightly on the lips, and when I tighten my arms around her she gives me her heart too.

“I love you, Chase Gartner,” she whispers. “I love your trouble, I love your kindness. I love all your good, and all your bad…I just love you.”




Kay takes a shower and I wait for her in my bedroom. I’m seated on the edge of my just-slept-in, still-unmade bed. When she comes to the doorway—dressed in barely there shorts and a baggy T-shirt she must have gotten out of her suitcase or bag—she has her purse in her hand. And she looks panicked.

I am up in a heartbeat. “What is it, baby?” I take her face in my hands, carefully since her cheek is still red, though less swollen thanks to the ice. My eyes search hers.

“It’s Peetie, Chase.” She pulls away and stares at the floor dejectedly. “I left him. He was in my purse, and I thought I picked everything up that that * threw on the ground, but I must have somehow missed him.” Her voice grows more panicked, all while I am wondering: who the f*ck is Peetie? “I can’t lose him, Chase. I just can’t lose him too. He belonged to Sarah.”

Ah, now I understand. Kay showed me one day after lunch the stuffed rabbit she’s been carrying around in her purse, she explained it had once belonged to her sister. Now that I think about it, I remember her calling it Peetie. She also told me she’d intended on leaving the stuffed rabbit at Sarah’s grave, but just couldn’t do it. So she put Peetie back in her bag, and that’s where he’s stayed since then. Close to my girl every day since.

“I’ll get him back,” I promise, hoping none of those punk-ass junkies picked him up or kicked him somewhere where I won’t be able to find him.

I get Kay calmed and situated in my bed. I ask her if she wants fresh sheets but she tells me the ones on the mattress smell like me and that makes her feel better. It kind of wows me that I have that effect. But, shit, I can go with that. I kiss sweet girl’s forehead and promise to be back soon. She tells me again to be careful. I promise to watch my step and to be discreet in what I’m about to do, but she really needn’t worry. Who I become when I fight is no one Kay would even recognize.

Five minutes later, I slowly become that unrecognizable man.

I am now fully dressed—jeans, work boots, a tight shirt that can’t be easily grabbed—and in the bathroom, staring at the mirror, looking at someone else and seeing a version of me I don’t often unleash. This is the darkest side of me, beyond selfish. This is me guided by rage, by base instinct. I want only to dominate and inflict pain. And, tonight, I want justice.

I think about what happened to Kay—every detail she told me before I left the bedroom. However, I know there’s more to her story of the time spent with Missy at the f*cking Anchor Inn. She said that guy she went out on a few dates with last fall, Nick-whoever, showed up with his cousin, and the two of them seemed to hit it off with Missy.

I bet.

I can only imagine what sort of spectacle ensued, obviously something that upset my girl enough to make her leave the bar early.

But I can’t worry about that stupid shit now, it’s irrelevant. None of those people hurt my girl. Maybe they upset her a little, but nothing like what the junkie in the parking lot did. That piece of shit laid hands where they didn’t belong. We’ll see how much he enjoys my hands on him.

I crack my knuckles, make a fist. Yeah, I have more for him than some lame-ass smack across the cheek. Fuck, do I ever.

I’ve been kind and gentle with my girl, but in front of the mirror I am a different man. My eyes are hard, my muscles flex. Shit, I know I am strong, but rage makes me swell bigger. And soon I’ll be using all this strength at something I’m good at—f*cking motherf*ckers up. My adrenaline pumps. The dark craving to beat the f*ck out of someone rises in my veins. My blood runs hot, my temper hotter. I look down at my hands. I want these fists to spill blood, to break f*cking bones. This is part of who I am; this is the trouble I warned Kay of.

When I see the ice pack on the counter, reminding me of what happened and where I’m going, it takes everything I have not to punch the f*cking mirror right before my eyes. But I’ll hold it together for as long as I’m in this house, this house with Kay down the hall. She’s had enough scares for one night. She doesn’t need to see me like this, nor does she need to hear my destruction. Hell, I’m so amped at the moment that if she walked in here and came on to me right now, like she did earlier, I’d not be able to stop. I’d f*ck my girl hard and fast. Our first time would, in fact, be on the counter. And it would not be gentle. No, not at all.

Fuck. I clearly need to get out of here.

By the time I’m outside and getting into my truck, my lust has tapered. All my testosterone has only one focus—hunting down the f*cker who hurt Kay…and making him pay dearly.

I pull away from the house, leaving the woman who gives me reason to believe salvation is possible lying in my bed. I speed past the church, turning away from the cross on the top. Tomorrow I’ll think about repentance, for where I’m going, for what I’m about to do.

It’s late and there’s no traffic so I close in on my destination in no time—this dirty part of town where I once bathed in sin, immersed myself in it really. And where, tonight, I will sin again. Because vengeance belongs only to God, but tonight it motherf*cking belongs to me.