Page 104 of Antihero

The muscles in Tyler’s chest shifted. An extreme lower jaw jut indicated an adrenaline surge. Evan watched it build.

Tyler swung the bat.

At Evan’s head. A death blow.

Evan ducked it, popped up, delivered a shotokan front kick to Tyler Russell’s chest. His base had been set, the delivery perfect, the ball of his foot driving straight into the solar plexus.

Tyler left his feet.

He flew through the screen door, the mesh going with him, the frame barely rattling. He hit the floorboards, wind knocked out. Flopping around, mouth gaping, he fought off the netting.

Evan was on him.

He hauled him up, slammed his cheek down onto an entryway table lined with family photos, and dragged his face through the frames. Crashes and shattered glass.

Evan ran Tyler into the family room and threw him into an empty La-Z-Boy, which upended, dumping him by the open sliding glass door to the backyard. Evan kicked him across the threshold, then onto the back porch, and then off the back porch. Then he picked him up and threw him, bouncing him off the railing. Tyler clipped the chicken coop as he fell, the frail wooden frame exploding, chickens bursting out in an eruption of feathers. The dog—Cooper—sprinted in circles, barking furiously.

Tyler’s face was cut up, arm raised. “Wait, man, I won’t—”

The rectangular outline of his phone showed in the front pocket of his sweats. Leaning down, Evan ripped it straight through the fabric. He paused only to drop the phone—and the extorted image of Kenzie it contained—into a cargo pocket before he grabbed Tyler by the collar, hauled him up, and rammed him into the side of the aboveground pool. The aluminum siding gave off a sound like a cymbal crash.

Evan jammed Tyler’s head in the water until he took in a gulp of water, and then hauled him out. Tyler spat and blubbered. The dog was at Evan’s heels, going crazy but too afraid to bite. Tyler shook his head, eyes shut in fear.

“Look at me,” Evan said. “Look at me. Look at me.”

Tyler managed.

“If you ever contact or harass Kenzie again—or any other young woman—I will come back for you. And I will drown you where we stand.”

He dunked Tyler again, shoved his head and shoulders in deep.

A wail from behind: “Stop! Stop!”

Evan turned.

Tyler’s mother stood on the back porch, hand over her mouth, crying. At her side a shell-shocked little girl around six, her features blank, eyes wide and brimming. Behind them, the father. He wore a bright blue polo shirt and a telemarketer headset, the boom microphone wand shoved up by his temple. Much slighter than his son, he looked terrified.

“Please don’t hurt him any more,” the father said. “Please don’t hurt our boy.”

Evan let go of Tyler. The kid slid backward off the rim of the pool and fell onto the thinning lawn, vomiting water. The dog whimpered and tucked himself behind the mother’s legs.

Evan’s arms were wet to the shoulders. His hip flexor tingled from the exertion of the front kick. His breathing had barely quickened.

The Fourth Commandment had gone up in smoke, embers and ash floating away, clearing the view of what he had done. Tyler squirmed and retched on the lawn, bits of grass stuck to his face. His younger sister ran to him and knelt at his side, petting his arm. Tentatively, the mother followed, giving Evan wide berth.

He was not a monster. But that part of him had come out. It had come out and taken over.

Evan walked back toward the house, mounting the few steps to the porch.

The father remained in place, trembling.

Evan halted at his side. They faced in opposite directions. Body odor came off the man, the stink of panic fear.

“He’s abusing and harassing young women,” Evan said. “Sexually.”

The father’s nod looked like a tremor. “When? How?”

“He coerces them into sending him pictures.”