Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(18)

I glared at him.

“It wasn’t this bad the last time I came here.”

“It’s a trailer park on the wrong end of Boulder Highway, man. You should have used your f**king head and done the math.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

That satisfied me a bit, but not enough to dampen the rage inside of me for the man we were looking for.

I couldn’t have said whether I would have shown more restraint if we’d shown up and found the culprit, say, sleeping, but that isn’t how we found him.

We found him beating on Danika’s mother, being loud enough about it to shake the walls of their trailer.

I heard a female cry of pain as I opened my car door, and that was it.

I didn’t remember charging to the door, or even through it.

I did remember grabbing the fist the man had cocked back, bringing my other hand to his back, and wrenching it hard enough to dislocate a shoulder, then sending the abuser flying across the room.

I advanced on him, keeping my arms at my sides as he came back to his feet, clutching his limp shoulder, his face twisted in agony.

He took a swing at me with his good arm, and I let his fist make solid contact with my jaw.

He had a hell of a left hook, and my neck snapped to the side with the impact.

I grinned like a maniac as I jerked my neck back to look at him.

It was crazy, but I was so angry that I wanted to feel some pain. I wanted this son of a bitch to put up a good fight before I took him down.

“Who the f**k are you, and what is your problem?” the man growled.

“You’re my f**king problem.”

I took two steps forward, kneeing him in the stomach hard enough to have him doubled over and coughing.

I gripped a handful of his greasy hair in my hand, pushing down hard while I raised a knee. I heard his nose break with a wet crunch.

I pulled his head straight, and his fist caught me in the stomach. Good. I wanted a fight more than a beating, and it had been starting to feel pathetic.

I never let go of his hair as my fist met his jaw, then his mouth.

I felt a few of his teeth give at the contact, and smiled right into the motherf*cker’s face.

“You remember the girl you roughed up on Friday?” I asked him, bashing his face into the trailer’s tiny stovetop, once, twice.

“You remember her?” I asked again when he didn’t answer. He was too busy swallowing mouthfuls of his own blood to talk.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, blood flowing freely through his nostrils, and out his mouth.

“If you make it through today, if I decide to let you f**king breathe after this, I want you to remember one thing: You touch that girl again, you’re dead. Do you understand?”

“I-I d-do, man. I understand.” He seemed to mean it.

Unfortunately, the memory of Danika’s breast, covered in bruises from this man’s big hand, came into my head again, and I started beating.

I couldn’t have catalogued all of the blows after that, but he stopped fighting long before I stopped wailing on him, and the only reason I stopped was because not one, but two Tasers had me flopping like a fish on the ground.

Things got fuzzy, and I was cuffed and in the back of a police cruiser before I had my wits back.

“Not cool guys,” I told the two cops in front. “Tasers f**king suck.”

One of them, an overweight sandy-haired guy, looked back at me, his eyes widening.

I smiled at him.

I could tell that he thought I was a crazy f**ker. I was shirtless, covered in blood, coming off a stun-gun ass kicking, and grinning like a fool.

I’d think I was crazy, too.

“That stun-gun did a hell of a lot less damage than you did to that other guy.”

“Not my fault he only knows how to beat up women. Probably the first time he’s fought someone his own size.”

“You are no-f*cking-body’s size, man.”

He had a point.

“You want to tell me what was going on back there? Why were you trying to kill that guy?”

He’d gone into cop mode, and the word kill had me nervous as hell.

“Ask my lawyer,” I told him, knowing that Jerry was following us closely behind.

“Fucking maniac has a lawyer,” he told his partner.

They laughed. They didn’t believe me, but they would soon enough. Jerry was good, always looking for an angle. He hated being a lawyer, but that didn’t mean he was bad at it.

In the end, I spent way less time in a cell than anyone could have guessed. The guy had worked Danika’s mom over before I’d arrived and that complicated things.

I’d only caught the barest glimpse of the woman before I’d gone after the man. She’d appeared to me to be just a mess of dark hair on a tiny body, but she’d looked badly hurt.

Jerry turned out to be the best witness, and so he called Bev in to be my lawyer, keeping things as much on the up and up as we could. The cleaner the case the better, he said.

In the end, Bev got me out of there in mere hours, no charges pressed. My actions were justified, she argued, since I’d stopped a potentially fatal attack on Marta, Danika’s mother. The woman’s injuries supported our case, since she’d been hospitalized along with the man.

The man, who I found out along the way was named Bert McLeary, was going to live. He hadn’t struck me as a Bert, was my first thought. My second was that I’d dodged a bullet.