I shove him, putting a foot out to catch his ankle—and let go of the reins on my rage.
“Fuck! Ack!” Mick screams as he tumbles down the stairs. I watch him cover his head as he rolls and spins down the steps. How unfair that he gets to avoid a concussion when my wife got one protecting our child?
I stroll down. I thought watching him suffer like Grace had might be satisfying, but it isn’t. He’s bigger and stronger. Doesn’t look like anything is broken. He isn’t even lying in his own blood.
“Fucking asshole!” he yells from the bottom of the stairs.
Definitely nothing broken. I swing my cane.
He raises his arm, screaming even before the cane connects with a loudthwack.
What a pussy. This fucking weasel dared to touch my wife and hurt her.
I swing again and again, counting in my head. I’m a fair man. I won’t strike more than twenty times—one for each step.
“Oh my God! Stop it! You’re going to kill him!” Karie screams.
“Stop! I’ll do anything!” Nelson pleads.
But neither of them is brave enough to come forward and physically shield their son with their own body.
Eight… Nine…There is acrack, and I feel the bones in his forearm go.
“Mom! Dad! Do something!” Mick screams, spittle dripping from his mouth.
“Mommy and Daddy aren’t coming to your rescue, Mick,” I taunt him darkly.
“Fuck! Augh!” He pulls his head down, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. He’s probably hoping I’ll tire myself out.
I’m not even winded. I’ve chased down balls playing tennis with Sebastian, who doesn’t believe in friendly competition, just winning. Smacking a more or less immobile target is piece of cake. “What’s the matter, scumbag? I’m just erasing your parents’indiscretion. I’m sure the entire family wishes you’d never been born.”
“This is battery!” he shouts. “I’ll press charges. Your ass is going to jail!”
“Do it.” Another smack.
“No one’s gonna protect you,” he tries to threaten, but the slobbery delivery ruins the impact.
“I don’t need anybody’s protection. I can protect myself. Can you?” I hit him again. Something else—not my cane—cracks.
Mick screams in pain. The cocky insolence in his usually smarmy face shatters as he realizes his parents aren’t going toput themselves in danger for him. He looks to Andreas, who turns away in disgust.
“I’m going to make sure you pay for what you’ve done. And I’m going to sue you until you have nothing left to your name.”
“Who’s gonna do it?” He can barely get the words out.
I straighten. I’m at fifteen, but if I hit him more, he might just die. That won’t do. I’ll save the five for later.
“I can think of a few people. But if nobody will take the case…” I flash him my friendliest smile. “Congratulations! You’ll have done something none of my family was able to do. I’ll pass the bar and deal with you myself.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Huxley
Grace looks so small and delicate on the hospital bed. The doc said she would be awake after a good night’s sleep, but it’s been four days. He looked utterly flustered when I demanded answers. Dr. Silverman could only tell me the baby is fine, nothing more, but she’s an obstetrician. More specialists examined my wife, but they couldn’t say what was wrong either.
“Maybe the concussion is more serious than we initially thought,” was the only explanation offered.
“Are you kidding me? Didn’t you do enough tests to make sure?” I snarled. Intellectually I understand alienating the doctors isn’t the best course of action, but I have no patience for their incompetence. The possibility that Grace might not wake up is petrifying. I’ve never felt a terror this dark, not even when I landed wrong during that half-pipe stunt that left me in a coma for a few days.
