I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(70)

I find Peetie first, lying on the ground near the apartment entrance. Next to him are the sunglasses I fixed for Kay the day we first met. Only now her fake-designers are annihilated, crushed beyond repair. I step over them and pick up Peetie. He’s a little dusty, but basically unscathed. I brush the stuffed rabbit off and throw him in the truck. I turn back and assess the area.

Most of the building is dark, the tenants either fast asleep or out. But that doesn’t mean there’s no activity. Orange lighter flames flicker from an alley snaking back the side of the structure. I walk closer, not to partake as I once might have considered, no. I have only one mission tonight—find the junkie who messed with my girl. And that mission is about to be accomplished.

Finding the guy isn’t difficult. Apart from the description Kay gave me, he’s the only one whose face freezes in terror when he sees me coming his way. With the look I have on my face, he knows exactly why I’m here. The other junkies aren’t stupid either. They see my expression and disperse with haste.

Now, it’s just me and him.

Fireplug—Kay’s term, not mine—backs away. His hands are up as he retreats. “Hey, was that your girl, man? Things got a little out of hand. I didn’t mean to hurt her or anything.”

I say nothing, I am not here to f*cking talk it out. Besides, I’m too busy estimating the number of steps to my target, counting them down in my head.

Ten, nine…

“I’m sorry, man.” Useless babbling. “I let her go, that should count for something, huh?”

Eight, seven, six…

“Please,” he cries, “I just needed the money.” I laugh.

Five, four…

He changes tactics, the real him emerges. “Fuck you, dude. You know what, I’m glad I hit the f*cking cunt. I would’ve done more too.”

And that is the wrong f*cking thing to say.

Three, two, one…

At the last second, this dick pulls out a knife and tries to stick me. But I am so much faster. My fist flies out and connects with his face. The knife falls and skitters away. The junkie drops. Blood pours from his mouth and his nose, but I’m just getting started. I see red, I feel black rage.

“Get up,” I growl, standing above him. “You get off on hurting women, you sick f*ck? Get up and try me, *.”

This dude is dazed and whimpering, holding his bleeding face. With the hit he just took from me, he should be out like a light. But whatever drugs he’s taken keep him conscious. Good, I want him to feel my wrath unleashed. I’m not done yet.

Fireplug rolls, gets up on one knee, wavers, and finally straightens. When he’s upright he takes a swing that I easily step out of. I notice the left side of his jaw is askew. Fuck askew. I flex my fist, clench tight, and promptly shatter that shit all to hell. Now when the junkie falls, he stays f*cking put.

I am wired on pure adrenaline, testosterone pumping. A primal, base instinct deep in the darkest recesses of my mind urges me to finish him off, to exert my full dominance and leave his whole body just as shattered as his jaw.

I am powerless to stop my actions when I draw my leg back; poised to deliver what will surely be a death blow to this scumbag’s skull.

Suddenly, someone jerks me off balance. I straighten my leg to keep myself upright and bloodlust is momentarily forgotten. It’s enough time to spare the junkie, but that doesn’t mean I am not still infuriated.

I round on whoever is f*cking dumb enough to insert their ass into this volatile situation. “What the f*ck?” I growl.

My fists are up, ready to lay another motherf*cker out. But when my brain registers who just stopped me from killing a man, I falter. “Jesus, Kyle?”

My one-time dealer steps back away from me. “Gartner? Shit, man, f*ck.” He looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

This man I used to party with—and buy f*ckloads of drugs from—stands before me. Only four years have passed, but he looks at least a dozen years older. His brown eyes are black tonight, pupils dilated. He’s obviously high on something. His hair looks darker than I remember, but I think that’s only because his skin is so much paler. His clothes hang on his body. Kyle Tanner is skinny and reeks of body odor.

My one-time dealer chuckles and glances dispassionately to the junkie on the ground. “Chase Gartner, out of prison and down here f*cking up my customers. Should I even be surprised?” He laughs. “Shit, I heard you were back, but I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” His dark eyes meet mine. “Now that you’re here, though…”

He doesn’t care about the broken man on the ground as anything more than someone who buys. And now he’s asking me if I want to buy too.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good. In fact, I’m leaving.”

I start to walk away, but Kyle puts his arm out. Like his emaciated ass could stop me.

“Brave,” I say, chuckling and staring him down.

He very wisely drops his arm. “Hey, that’s cool. Glad you’re good for tonight. But, if you ever change your mind, just know my door is always open, my friend.”

Kyle isn’t any kind of a friend; he sees nothing more than dollar signs when he looks at me. I was once a consistent paying customer, one who bought a lot of f*cking drugs. But that’s all in the past. My girl is back at my house, waiting, and the desire to get back to her is so much stronger than any urge to use.