Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(24)

I'm not sure why I felt the need to tell him, but it had always been easy to pour my heart out to him.  Too easy to talk to him, even when it had felt like a conflict of loyalties.

"You did nothing wrong."

I just nodded.  "What I'm trying to say is, back then, I could have used some perspective, some counseling, to deal with what I'd done, but not this time.  This time, I only wish I'd done it the first time I had the chance."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE MONSTER

PAST

STEPHAN

Bianca and I had been doing quite well for a while.  Longer than usual in the system without any problems.  In foster care, both going to the same public school.  We'd managed to stay together, which was the important part.  We had a roof over our heads and food.

We were staying with a couple that owned a small restaurant, and we both worked there after school.  They weren't supposed to make us work, we were too young, but they were keeping us together, so we didn't mind.  I bussed tables, did dishes, and Bianca served food.

Neither of us had a problem with the arrangement, usually.  Both of us had had to endure so much worse, in the past.

I was a little annoyed with the situation today, though.  I'd had to stay after school for a project and wanted Bianca to stay with me.

We didn't like to be apart.  Not ever.

But our foster caregivers had needed her to work right after school, so she'd left without me.

It made me antsy, for more reasons than I could name, one of which being that it just felt wrong.

I got out of there as fast as I could manage, hurrying to the restaurant.  I went my normal route, using an alley, and cutting directly to the back entrance.

I heard before I saw.

All the times I'd ever fought, all the reasons I'd done it for, I'd never experienced the blind, all-consuming rage I did when I realized what was going on.  Not even close.

And it was a fact I had a horrible temper.

I heard some grunts of noise up ahead, folded around a corner, out of sight.

They sounded off.  I didn't like them right away.  They came from him, I'd piece together later.

If it'd come from her, I would have known instantly, and acted accordingly.

Another noise I didn't like followed quickly, the sound of something punching flesh, a hard hit on a soft target.

I winced.  Someone was fighting, and I wondered if I'd have to become involved.  It would really just depend on the situation, I mused.

A growl came next, and then a curse from a low, hard, accented voice.

I quickened my step.  Something I'd heard had jarred the edge of a memory, enough so that I was starting to react before I processed.  To panic before I knew.

And then I heard it, just before I turned the corner.  Heard her.  Her cry.  Her cry of pain.

I broke into a run, making my way around the bend with a few quick strides.

And saw them.  Bianca on the ground, her hair trailing into her face as she curled into a ball to protect herself from the next vicious kick.  A brute of a blond man standing over her.  A monster.  The monster.  I'd heard enough of a description and saw enough of a resemblance to know it right away.

Her father, come to hurt her.

He never landed that kick

I roared like a maniac and charged.

I hit him in the midsection and took him down.  Hard.  We fell away from Bianca, clearing her of harm, which had been the point.

I reared back to punch, but his fist met my face first.

He wasn't going to take this lying down, and he was a huge motherf*cker.

I wasn't daunted.  Hatred fueled me, and hate was impervious to intimidation.

He'd put hands on her.  I couldn't stand the thought.  All I knew for sure was I'd make him pay.  I'd make him hurt.  I'd make him regret it.

I tucked my head down and started punching, fast vicious jabs to his gut that were designed to do the most damage.  I'd tenderize his insides until he pissed blood for a month.

A meaty fist caught the side of my head, but I just kept hitting and hitting, curses spewing from me.  He was huge, and strong, but not fast.  I was all of those things and feeling no pain at the moment, to boot.

I'd demolish him, or die trying, I swore then and there.

His next hit caught me in the temple, and I saw stars, but it didn't slow me down.  Instead, it set me off.

I took a cheap shot, punching him in the groin.

He yelped like a wounded animal.

I did it again, and again, then went for his face.  I held myself up on one arm and did as much damage to it as I could before he managed to stumble away, staggering up to his feet.

I rose to join him.  I spat a mouthful of blood on the ground, shrugged my shoulders to loosen them up, and smiled at the bastard.

He shot me an assessing look that held more than an ounce of approval in it.  The man respected a good fighter.  It was likely the only thing he respected, the piece of shit.

"That's my daughter," he told me, his voice deep and scratchy, his accent thick.  "This is family business.  You do not need to interfere."

I saw red, and with a roar, charged again.

"She's my family, you bastard!" I cursed him, shoving him up against the wall of the building.  "I'll kill you if you ever lay a hand on her again!  I'll kill you, you bastard.  I swear it!"  I was screaming by the end, spittle flying, hands going for his throat and squeezing.