Trapped (Caged #2)(64)

The drunk’s yelling was really too loud for me to understand what the security dude was trying to say anyway.

My fist flew into the drunk’s face once more, and I heard the crack of bone as I connected with his eye socket. He was really screaming now, but it didn’t make any difference to me. I felt hands on my shoulders, but I ignored them when they pulled at me. There was only one thing that mattered—and that was beating this shithead into the ground.

I jerked forward and backward as the train came to a stop. More yelling and screaming ensued as a couple of uniformed cops entered the car. I ignored them as long as I could and moved to punching the guy’s chest and stomach instead of his bloodied face. He was just cowering and crying now, and I didn’t give a shit.

All my muscles tensed, froze, vibrated, and screamed as I sat up straight and tried to cry out. It didn’t work, and every one of my muscles went completely rigid as electricity shot through my system. A moment later, the sensation stopped and I slumped over to one side. I wasn’t sure if I could move or not and definitely didn’t want to try.

I’ve been tased.

Now there’s something to cross off my bucket list.

The hands around me were a lot more successful this time as they grabbed onto my shoulders and hauled me upright. My arms were pulled behind my back, and I heard the distinctive click of handcuffs and the cool feel of metal around my wrists. I heard someone asking what had happened, and all the people who had been riding along started shouting out their own versions of what had transpired.

“The other dude pulled a knife—it was self-defense!”

“Seen that other guy before,” a woman’s voice called out. “He’s a nut! He’s always yelling at people who sit there.”

“He wouldn’t stop hitting that guy.”

“That’s Takedown Teague, the fighter.”

“Didn’t he bust up a wedding in Northside?”

I closed my eyes and just let them haul me off the subway and up the escalator. At the top, there was already a pair of squad cars waiting. I was shoved into one, the drunk dude into the other. A moment later, we were screeching past shops and bars until we arrived at the station.

I didn’t even bother to resist when I was hauled out of the squad car, brought into the police station, and then dragged down the row of cells to a holding area at the end. There were dozens of guys—mostly drunks—in various stages of consciousness in each of the four cells we passed. I was shoved into the last one, which held only one other guy. He looked up from the bench where he was sitting as the officer removed the handcuffs, tossed me in, and locked the door. I glared at him, and he quickly looked away.

That was the most contact I had with him.

The little cot on the end welcomed my completely exhausted mind and body, and I could only hope sleep would come quickly. It didn’t work, and a few hours later I was considering picking a fight with the guy just to get him to knock me unconscious.

“Liam Teague?” An officer walked up to the door and started to open it.

“Yeah?” I sat up. There was a little flutter in my chest as I wondered if maybe Tria had found out somehow and had come to bail me out.

“Charges dropped,” the officer said. “You’re free to go.”

“Dropped?”

“Yeah. The other guy said he wasn’t going to testify, and there were enough people saying he pulled a knife on you. Just get out and stay away from trouble, okay? I gotta make room for a whole pile of drunken morons from the stadium tonight.”

I was so tired, I could barely walk, but I managed to get myself out of the holding cell and to a desk chair where I sat for at least another hour, waiting for the paperwork to be done. I had to sign my name about twenty times, agree that I wasn’t going to press charges against the other dude for anything, and then they just dumped me out on the street.

I was a good three miles from the apartment, and I didn’t even have a dollar in my pocket for the bus, so I just started walking. My head ached, and it seemed every memory I had avoided for years was trying to break through my eye sockets. I counted my steps and then parking meters as I walked by, but images kept popping into my mind. I just couldn’t stop them, and by the time I reached my neighborhood, I was not only wiped out but nearly insane as well.

I glanced up at the fire escape and our bedroom window, which was totally dark. It made sense because it was nearly dawn and Tria had probably gone to bed hours ago. My legs and feet felt heavy as I climbed the stairs. My side was starting to ache a little, probably from sitting in the same position on the subway and then lying on that crappy cot for so long. I was sure a lot of it just had to do with my own state of mind. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say to Tria.

It’s not like I could look her in the eye and tell her I wanted to have a baby. Maybe I’d want to adopt one someday but certainly not now. Even with the little extra Tria brought in, we could barely support ourselves. With a baby, we would need so much more. That wasn’t even the issue though. The main issue was I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her.

I couldn’t really imagine her having the kid and then giving it up, either. I didn’t want her to go through with the pregnancy at all, but if Tria had the baby, it was going to be a child of mine.

Period.

In my head, adoption was out of the question. In Tria’s mind, abortion was not an option. Ultimately, that meant we were down to only one real choice. It was a choice I couldn’t cope with, but it was all we had.