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Vignettes flood my mind, a million scenes of Caitlin crying and panicking and hating herself, and all because of this jerk-off.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I snap. “You’ve got no right following her, you sick weirdo. You’ve got no right being anywhere near her.”
Solomon steps between us, causing Kenny to pause.
More fear spreads its gnarled hands inside of me when I see that Kenny’s goons are even taller and wider than Solomon, and there are three of them.
This is really freaking bad.
“Time to go,” Solomon snarls.
His body is still as if he’s gathering all his primal energy, getting ready to release it.
“Time to go?” Kenny laughs, sounding deranged like he’s on something. I wouldn’t put it past him. “Now where do you get off telling me where I can and can’t go, eh?”
“You’re pathetic,” I snap, flaring rage forcing the words from between my lips.
“Shut up, you fat bitch,” Kenny snarls.
Solomon takes a step forward.
“Apologize,” he says flatly.
“Or what?”
Solomon’s hands curl into fists. A vein pulsing in his neck.
“Or I’ll make you apologize. You’ve got no right talking to my woman like that, you junkie fuck. So you apologize or say goodbye to your teeth.”
“Your woman?” Kenny says and then lets out a hyena-like cackle.
Caitlin’s gaze flits to me and to her dad, her eyes wide in question. All I can do is shake my head and fight the tears that try to stream down my cheeks, that try to erupt and morph my rage into something else.
“What is he talking about?” Caitlin murmurs. “Dad, what’re you talking about?”
“I …” Solomon sighs. “I’ll explain once this junkie motherfucker has said he’s sorry and left peacefully.”
“Just go, Kenny,” Caitlin snaps. “We went on a few dates. It didn’t work out. That’s life. There’s something wrong with you, just leave me alone.”
“Something wrong with me?” he yells, laughing again in that unhinged way. “I’m not the one whose best friend is fucking her dad.”
Caitlin looks at me again, a plea in her eyes. I can’t tell if the shimmering tears are because Kenny’s here or because of what she’s just learned.
In all the ways I imagined today going, it was never like this.
Solomon growls out a sigh. “Leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“They’ve called the police, you idiot,” I yell, gesturing at the counter, hoping it’s true. “So I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Kenny chuckles. He licks his lips, a grotesque movement that makes me feel as though worms are crawling down my spine. “I’m taking what’s rightfully mine. Boys.”
It’s like the men in the black suits are machines.
The moment Kenny gives the command, they start inching forward, hands raised as though to grab Caitlin.
“Last chance,” Solomon says. “Apologize. Leave. Or I won’t have a choice.”
“You think your gym muscle scare me, jackass?” Kenny laughs. “These men are fucking MMA trained. Give it your best shot.”
Solomon shrugs.
“Alright, then.”
The first man – the tallest, with a scar across his jaws – ducks and makes as if to punch Solomon in the face. Solomon spins away quickly, far quicker than I would’ve imagined a man of his size could move.
He makes a tsk sound as he throws a counter punch, catching the man in the scarred jaw. The force sends him flipping over sideways, letting out a strangled coughing noise as he collides with the next table.
A tray flips over and glass shatters loudly on the floor.
Solomon spins, moving with the grace of a dancer.
Suddenly, perversely, I imagine us dancing on our wedding day, my man spinning me around the same way he does now.
The other two men leap at him, their fists darting out like professional fighters.
I’ve only ever seen a few fights in my life – mostly in high school – and this is nothing like that.
They attack efficiently, wasting no time with their movements, their punches lashing out like whips.
But Solomon is quicker.
He ducks one punch and then catches the other on his arm, letting out a carnal roar as he leaps forward and head-butts one man so hard he collapses backward, his sunglasses shattering and falling from his face.
The third man grunts as he throws another big looping strike, but it’s like Solomon senses it coming. He pulls his head out of the way just enough, that I imagine Solomon must be able to feel a little puff of air against his face, and then he lunges forward with the ferocity of a jungle cat.
He grabs the man by the shoulders and throws him to the ground.
The man goes flying and slams into the same table the other man crashed into, both of them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
“No, no, no,” Kenny whines, as Solomon moves purposefully toward him. “I’m sorry, man. Shit—I’m sorry.”
Kenny pulls a knife and swipes at the air, making a hiss-hiss noise.
