Kane put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s just go, bro.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t,” teased Brandon. “You know Darragh doesn’t like being ignored.”
“Darragh’s not here,” snapped Kane. “Just some dick making a scene like he’s a big man.”
Brandon tutted, shaking his head. “Kane, Kane, Kane. It’s the principle of it. You know that.”
Kane stepped away from me toward Brandon. “You don’t even work for that douche.”
“No… But you know me: I’m friendly! Friends have their friends’ backs. Ergo, if you just walk away now… I’ll have to let Darragh know.”
I hadn’t turned yet. I was frozen solid, listening and staring into the distance but not seeing. I thought I’d seen the last of Darragh. To know that he was sniffing around again, after everything he’d put me through…
“You know what I think of guys like you, Brandon?” said Kane, already fired up.
Brandon’s smug smile in his voice didn’t leave. “I’m sure you’ll be so kind as to tell me.”
“You’re like a little dog, that’s what I think. You know the ones: all mouth, but no bite. Their owners walk them past the big dogs’ yards, and those little terriers yap their heads off like they’re the most powerful shits in the world. But all they are is safe. The moment they’re in actual danger, they shut up, because they’re nothing. That’s what you are, Brandon: a yappy little shit who deserves nothing better than a kick up the ass.”
“And you’re going to give it to me, are you?”
Kane shook his head. “Maybe if kicking your ass would be worth it.” He stepped back. “Come on, Tristian. Let the little bitch bark all he wants.”
He fell into step beside me, guiding me on with a hand on my shoulder.
Brandon’s voice came again.
“I’ll just let Darragh know you’ve turned him down then,” he called as we crossed the parking lot. “Tell him you don’t need the cash.”
I hesitated. My hands flexed.
Kane muttered, low, “Just keep walking.”
We did.
For about two steps.
“So did you tell the hospital to switch that vegetable’s machines off yet, or what?”
The world did stop this time. The ambient noise of the street—the cars, the wind—vanished.
I turned, stalked back to Brandon, who stood smirking and smarmy, even as I drew right into his face.
“What did you say?” I asked, my voice eerily calm.
He smirked. “You know who I’m talking about. That rotting vegetable you go visit at the hospital: your mother. Honestly, Tristian, you’d be doing her a favor if you just pulled the pl—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
I didn’t telegraph the punch; I just snapped. The boxing training took over, but the discipline vanished. I lunged, a feral snarl ripping from my throat, and drove my fist into Brandon’s jaw with a sickening crack. Brandon hit the pavement hard, and I was on top of him instantly.
“Tristian! Stop!” Kane shouted, grabbing at the back of my shirt, but I tore away.
All I could see was red. I grabbed Brandon by the collar and slammed his head against the concrete. “You shut your fucking mouth!” I roared, raising my fist to strike again. Blood streamed from Brandon’s nose. His eyes were wide—but not just with terror. There was a sick, perverse glee in them too.
“Oh my God! Somebody call the police!”a woman screamed from the sidewalk.
I slammed my fist into Brandon again and again. My knuckles slammed flesh and bone. Red sprayed.
