Lori Foster (8 page)

Far too well.

Rowdy wasn’t small and he wasn’t weak, not now, not ever again. Each step he took narrowed his focus until it became a single laser beam of driving purpose.

People shifted out of the way as the two of them went through the bar and out the front door. Chill evening air filled Rowdy’s lungs, helping to clear away the haze of blistering rage. A restless breeze played over his fevered muscles, reminding him to relax.

Battles were always best fought with a cool head and limber muscles.

“I’ll take the jukebox,” the bully said again, “and a few cases of whiskey. That’s a bargain for you.”

Keeping a tight leash on his emotions, Rowdy stayed two steps behind. “We’ll talk about it near your truck.” And if he found what he thought he would, then God help the man.

At the alley beside the bar, they turned to head around back. The security lights Rowdy had installed helped to light the dark alleyway, which had discouraged hookers, dopers and gangs from hanging out there.

He had a clear path to the back lot—a lot where only employees should have been parked.

Rowdy stepped out of the alley and faced a nightmare, his worst suspicions confirmed.

The fucking bully had sealed his own fate.

He’d brought along a kid.

CHAPTER SIX

S
ITTING
ON
THE
ground outside the open truck door, his knees pulled up to his skinny chest, wearing only a T-shirt and jeans too short, the boy huddled against a rear tire. Rowdy guessed him to be eight, maybe nine years old. When the boy saw them, he jumped to his feet, his skinny chest working, his gaze filled with wariness.

“Who’s this?” Rowdy asked.

“He’s nobody. Don’t worry about it.”

Nobody.
Rowdy forced himself to breathe calmly. “Is he your son?”

“That’s what the bitch says.” Not realizing his own peril, the guy laughed. “The runt don’t really look like me though, does he?”

A strange sort of peace settled over Rowdy. He knew what it was, because he’d felt it before. A defense mechanism. A way to push aside emotion so that only cold, lethal intent remained. It was how he’d coped back then, and how he would cope right now. “Where’s his coat?”

“How the fuck do I know?”

Chills had the boy trembling. And damn it, Rowdy shook with him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy put up his chin, silent, miserable. Afraid to speak.

Impatient, the thug barked, “Get back in the truck, Marcus.” And then to Rowdy, “I told you, his mom had shit to do so I had to drag him along. He won’t be a problem. He knows to stay out of the way. Now forget about him, will you?”

“No, actually, I won’t.” Despite the man’s order, Marcus didn’t move, and damn, Rowdy wanted to make him understand. He met the boy’s gaze. “Sorry, Marcus.”
I’m about to shake up your world.

Maybe Marcus did catch on, because his eyes went wide—and suddenly Avery opened the back door of the bar. She looked...he didn’t know. He’d never seen her look like that before.

She flashed an uncertain and very false smile. “I’m sorry to intrude. I figured the young man should come in with me while you two...negotiate your business.”

Was that her nice way of saying,
While you kill that no-good SOB?

Belligerence amplified the man’s bloodshot eyes. “He’s staying with me.”

Before Rowdy could bury his fist in the man’s face, Avery half stepped out, not so far as to put herself at risk, but far enough to intrude and make the bully want her to back off. “Oh, but you know what they say. Little pitchers have big ears. I’m sure you men would like to keep this conversation private.”

The man’s eyes narrowed on the kid. “He knows to keep his trap shut.”

Volcanic rage expanded Rowdy’s chest. He pushed past the man and put a hand on Marcus’s narrow shoulder. “Go on in, okay? She’ll get you something to drink.”

The boy dug in. “I’m not thirsty.”

Rowdy had expected that answer, because long, long ago, he’d given it a few times himself. To expedite things before his fragile thread of control snapped, he hardened his tone. “In.”

“Do what you’re told!” The man drew back a hand, ready to belt the boy.

Rowdy flattened one hand to the bastard’s chest and shoved him back hard. The single-word command cut through the night:
“Don’t.”

Taken by surprise, the man floundered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, and Rowdy?” Avery got the boy inside and leaned out again. “In case you needed help moving the jukebox, I called Logan.” And with that parting shot, she closed the door.

Rowdy narrowed his eyes. He finally had the man alone, and here Avery had snatched away his opportunity by calling in the law.

Had she known all along what he planned to do? Probably. Avery was cagey that way. Very little got by her.

The man shoved back from Rowdy’s hold. “I’m owed more than the jukebox for all my trouble. Like I said, a few cases of whiskey will help, but—”

Fury closed in, narrowing his vision. “All you’ll get from me is the beating you deserve.”

“What are you talking about?”

Egging him on, Rowdy said, “You’re a coward, a sloppy drunk and I’m going to enjoy taking you apart.” Rarely did he ever hit first. He’d learned that in the legal world, words were allowed, but first contact was frowned upon.

Predictably, what he said enraged the man enough that he threw a big, meaty punch. Rowdy ducked, but not in time. The blow connected with his shoulder and knocked him off balance. He dropped to one knee, then braced for the impact of a tackle.

They went into the sharp gravel; it cut into Rowdy’s spine and shoulders before he rolled, shoving the heavier man to the side. Now with the gravel assaulting his knees, Rowdy pounded the other man with several heavy hits, catching him in his fat gut, his solar plexus, his chin.

The smell of blood blinded him to everything else. He hit harder and heard the bully’s nose break. His knuckles hurt, but it was a small price to pay for the pleasure he got in his retaliation.

When Rowdy got back to his feet, the big man rolled, trying to grab for his legs. Rowdy kicked out and got him in the nuts.

That took the fight right out of him.

Out of the shadows, a man said, “Jesus, Darrell, you fucking puke. If you can’t hold your own, then don’t start this shit.”

Breathing hard and fast, Rowdy turned, and another man appeared. He flashed a grin—and a big tactical knife with a serrated blade.

“You should have given me my money,” Darrell grunted as he struggled up to his knees.

“Fuck you.” Rowdy didn’t know the second man, but he knew Darrell, the abusive prick.

He kicked him in the chin, rendering him flat on his back, out cold.

Immediately Rowdy turned to fend off the knife wielder, but the second guy was on him too fast. As Rowdy lunged away, he felt the blade slice over his shoulder and down his back. Liquid heat ran along his nerve endings.

Not that he’d let it slow him down. A lifetime of hatred kept the pain at bay. Any man who abused his kid deserved a beating—and so much more.

With singular purpose, Rowdy dodged the next thrust of the knife and got in a solid punch that staggered the man. It didn’t take him down, though; it only pissed him off, wiping that smirking grin right off his face.

Keeping the knife at the ready, he spit blood to the side. “You’re dead meat, asshole.”

Coiled, ready, Rowdy smiled and beckoned him forward. “Let’s go, then.”

Sirens pierced the night, not an unfamiliar occurrence, but Rowdy figured this time it was Logan sticking his cop nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

Time to wrap this up.

The man circled to the side, but Rowdy moved with him, slowly closing the space between them. “You’ve got the knife,” Rowdy taunted. “What are you waiting for?”

The fool charged at the same time that Rowdy adjusted his stance to kick out—and he broke the man’s elbow. The knife fell from his hand and into the rough gravel. Rowdy moved in, punching him in the face, once, twice, a third time.

Dropping to his knees, the man swayed.

With one final kick to the chin, Rowdy sent him backward in a heap.

Behind Rowdy, someone applauded.

He spun around, and there was Cannon leaning against the side of the brick exterior wall of the bar. “Now that was more like it.”

Dumbfounded, Rowdy said, “I didn’t hear you.” Which had to mean the younger man was good, because no way was Rowdy slipping.

“Just got here,” Cannon said. “I would have helped out, but looked like you had it handled. Mostly, anyway.”

Rowdy opened and closed his fists, not quite satisfied with the damage he’d done.

Not sure he could ever be satisfied when it came to child abuse.

Struggling to get his shit together, Rowdy forced a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I was curious.” Cannon
accidentally
kicked Darrell as he stepped forward. “And you did offer me a free drink.”

Rowdy looked at Cannon, then at Darrell sprawled on the ground, a hand at his gushing nose, bruises swelling his face and the side of his head. Darrell’s cohort gave a faint moan, still out but starting to come around.

The black cloud of destructive anger continued to swim before Rowdy’s eyes. He blinked to clear things up, then rotated his head, doing what he could to flex out the coiled tension.

The sirens grew louder before suddenly stopping. Great. Just the type of advertisement his place didn’t need. He worked his fists again. “That drink will have to wait.”

“Yeah?” Cannon shook his head at Darrell when he started to move. “Why’s that?”

Logan stepped out of the alley, gun drawn. When he saw Rowdy standing there—doing his damnedest to look relaxed—he relaxed, too. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” But he knew he wasn’t.

From the other side of the bar, Reese cursed. “Pigheaded fool. How can you be okay when your back is covered in blood?”

“Knife,” Cannon said, apparently not discomfited by the bloodshed or the appearance of cops. He nodded at Darrell’s backup. “If Rowdy hadn’t gotten so sloppy, it would have been a perfect performance.”

“And you are?” Reese asked, while lifting Rowdy’s shirt to survey the damage.

Rowdy did the introductions. “Cannon Colter, meet Detectives Logan Riske and Reese Bareden.”

“Huh.” Cannon moved to inspect Rowdy’s back, too. “Somehow I didn’t figure you for the type to hang with cops.”

“I’m not.” Rowdy tried to shrug Reese away. “My sister married Logan.” He glared at Reese. “This big oaf came along as part of a package deal or something.”

“Can’t you just feel the love?” At six feet six inches, Reese towered over almost everyone. He glanced at Cannon. “I take it you aren’t part of the trouble?”

“He’s not.” Rowdy’s knees started to feel wobbly, meaning he’d lost too much blood. Shit. “They attacked me.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Avery told me when she called.”

Two uniformed cops joined them. With a quick order from Logan, they cuffed the goons and began reading them their rights.

Logan looked at Rowdy, a brow cocked. “Wanna tell me why?”

Why not? He had a lot to say, and maybe not a lot of time to say it before he just might pass out. “These two wanted to shake me down. Something to do with a drug deal they’d made with the previous owner.”

“It was bound to happen.” Reese holstered his weapon and grabbed Rowdy’s arm. “Sit down.”

“I think I will.” Rowdy’s legs more or less collapsed under him. The rough gravel dug through the denim of his jeans to his backside, but he refused to complain.

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Logan stated, and although he had his “I’m in charge” voice going, Rowdy heard the concern.

“Don’t even think it.” Rowdy tipped his head toward the bar. “There’s a kid in there with Avery. Darrell brought him here, and I’m pretty sure he’s his son.”

Sensing there was more, Logan waited.

“Don’t let him go anywhere. I mean it, Logan. He’s...”
He’s me, when I was a kid, and I know just how fucked that can be.
Rowdy blew out a breath. “I’ll take care of it. Of him, I mean.”
Somehow.

“We have people for that,” Reese said, and he ripped Rowdy’s shirt in two. Thankfully, his back was mostly numb. He barely felt it when Reese used the shredded shirt to clean up some of the blood so he could see the actual cut. “Jesus, was he trying to fillet you?”

Unconcerned, Cannon checked it out for himself. He touched, prodded and, somewhat satisfied, said, “You know how to move, so it’s not that deep, but you’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“He’ll live.” This time Reese was pulling Rowdy back to his feet.

Why, Rowdy didn’t know. He only knew that he didn’t want Marcus caught up in the system. “Listen to me, Logan. I’ll help the boy myself. I’ll get a few stitches and be right back—”

“The emergency room takes forever,” Cannon informed him. “Looks like you’ll only need one layer of stitches. I think you avoided muscle damage. But still, you’ll be lucky if it only takes four or five hours.”

Reese lifted his brows. “You don’t look like a doctor to me.”

“Fighter.” Cannon shrugged. “We see our fair share of serious injuries.”

All three men paused. Rowdy was the first to speak. “Professional?”

“I’m working on it.” Cannon pulled off his stocking cap, ran a hand over his black hair then tugged it on again. “But I don’t yet make enough to get by.”

“Which is why you came here?” Even with the blood loss, it started to click for Rowdy. “You’re looking for a job?”

“If you’re hiring.”

Perfect timing. Rowdy turned to Logan and stopped him before he made the call. “Don’t do it, Logan.”

“Sorry, but you have to trust me on this one.” Logan finished pushing in a number. “You know me. Would I abandon a kid?”

There were all kinds of abandonment.

The door opened and Avery strode out. Her stern expression held a wealth of emotion, and even more resolve. As if she knew Rowdy’s most immediate concerns, she said, “Ella has Marcus. He’s worried, way too silent, but now that we got him started, he’s eating like there’s no tomorrow.” She had a couple of fresh dish towels in her hand, and one of the new black aprons.

Rowdy tried to catch her gaze, but she stepped behind him. He twisted to look at her over his shoulder. “You saw?”

“Watched most of it through the window. Thank God I’d already called Logan before things got out of hand.” She tsked at the sight of his back.

Not exactly the hysterics he’d expected.

“I’ll take Rowdy to the hospital,” she announced.

“On the bus?” Rowdy asked, just because he felt that snarky.

She shouldered Reese away and gently placed the clean cloths against his wound. “I have my car with me.” Using the long apron strings, she tied the cloths in place to stop the bleeding.

“You have a car?” He bit off a grunt of pain when she tightened the makeshift bandage around him.

“Sorry.”

“Pepper would have my head.” With his call complete, Logan closed the phone and put it away. “Reese can stay here with the kid to wait for the social worker and to make sure no more trouble shows up. I’ll drive you to the hospital, but Avery can come along if she wants.”

“Damn, you’re bossy in cop mode.” Rowdy frowned at Avery. “And in case you’ve forgotten, you have a job—”

She cut him off. “I am going with you, Rowdy Yates, and that’s that!”