He shrugged. “Whatever. She saw something she shouldn’t have so she had to go.”
I punched him. Once. Hard.
His head snapped backwards.
He laughed even as blood dripped from his nose down his chin.
“What did she see?” I demanded even though I already knew. I didn’t have the details, but I knew enough to fill in the blanks.
He said nothing, his smile widening.
Fine.
I pulled out my knife and stepped closer, close enough that he could feel me there. I took his hand, not rough, not rushed. Just firm enough to remind him I had it.
Crow’s smile twitched.
“Still playing tough?” I asked quietly as I drew the blunt edge of the blade along the back of his hand. “That confidence always cracks first.”
He clenched his jaw, refusing to look at me.
I tightened my grip just a fraction. Not enough to break anything, but enough to hurt. A low sound escaped him before he could stop it.
I leaned in. “That’s restraint,” I told him calmly. “Not mercy.”
He swallowed.
“That all you got, Sledge?” he sneered, but his voice lacked its earlier edge. “I heard the rumors. Not impressed.”
“Good,” I said. “Means you’re still paying attention.”
I shifted my grip, twisting his hand just enough that his breath hitched sharply, then I twisted some more. “This,” I saidevenly, “is for stealing my kid’s voice.” There was a crack The sound sickening as it bounced off the walls.
Crow screamed despite his tough guy act.
I let go. Let the pain settle. Let the waiting do its work.
“And this,” I continued, circling him slowly, “is for taking away her sense of safety.”
Crow’s breathing went shallow. Fast.
He laughed, but it came out wrong. “Little brat should’ve stayed where she fucking belonged. In her goddamn room.”
Something in me snapped.
I moved without thinking, driving the blade down through the back of his hand, the resistance jarring as it bit deep enough to pin him there.
The scream was instant. High and desperate.
I didn’t hear anything after that.
One punch rocked his head back. Blood sprayed, warm and sudden. Another drove the air from his lungs, and when he sagged, I followed him down. My fists finding ribs, muscle—anywhere I could reach. I wasn’t careful. I wasn’t measured anymore.
He tried to speak. Tried to breathe.
I didn’t let him.
Hands finally grabbed my arms, wrenching me back.
