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A sound snaps my eyes open. I twist my head in its direction, not expecting the kid.
The text said no kids. Fuck!
He stares at me with large blue eyes.
He’s about four or five. The same age Lix was when he first realized what our father was doing to our mother. I remember when he asked us why Daddy was hurting Mommy. Brett and I didn’t know what to say. He begged us to make him stop. It killed us that we couldn’t do what our little brother asked. We were just too small.
The memory flashes before me in the same amount of time it takes to notice the bruise on the child’s face. And for the fucker to get in an unforeseen shot. He strikes my ear so hard everything goes dark. My ear turns deaf.
I land on my side. My first reaction is to get up. When I slam my hand on the floor, it feels like I missed.
My heavy body drops back down.
Rapidly blinking my eyes, I see a flash of fear on the kid’s face. Then a flash of the man moving toward him.
It’s all I need to regenerate my strength.
I lunge forward, latch my arms around the fucker’s legs and pull him to the ground, hoping the extra sixty pounds hurt like hell coming down hard.
I crawl over his body and get him into a coquina clutch; a martial art chokehold performed from the opponent’s back. I wrap my arms around the fucker’s throat while the other holds it in place. I squeeze tight, staring into the little boy’s eyes until the fucker slackens in my arms. I drop the dead weight and place two fingers on his neck, releasing a sigh when I feel a heartbeat.
The boy runs at me. Shit! He’s young. He probably thinks I killed his father. His arms come out, and he throws them and his legs around my body. He rests his head against my cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispers into my ear, patting his tiny hand on my back.
“Joey!”
The kid and I look up at his mom, standing with her bags in her hands as tears stream down her face. “You’re bleeding.”
“No, Mama.” The boy shakes his head. “It’s him, but it’s okay.” His large blue eyes move to mine.
I stare at my blood smeared over the bruise on his cheek. The only thing holding me back from turning around and finishing off the fucker on the floor is the forty-pound kid in my arms.
“You’ll heal, right?” He smiles. “All superheroes do.”
“Yeah, kid.” I laugh. “I’ll heal.” I set my palm on the floor to get up.
The kid hangs on tight, refusing to let go.
“I’m sorry,” the mom says with a quivering voice and puffy red eyes. “Joey, let go of the man. We have to leave.”
“No!” The kid clings tighter around my neck.
I get to my feet, raising a hand. “It’s okay. Are you ready?”
She nods, letting go of a few stuttering breaths. “Is he…?” She gestures to the fucker on the ground.
“He’s still breathing. He’ll come around after we’re gone. Let’s go.” I walk toward the door with the kid clinging to me.
Once I get the kid secured in the back seat, we head out.
I glimpse at my passenger. “You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“No.” She pushes the hair back from her face. “But it looks like you might need a few stitches.”
Shifting in my seat, I look in the rearview mirror at the gash below my right eye. Hell, now I’ll have a scar to match the left one. Shit. Mom’s really gonna want some answers.
“Here.” She pulls a few napkins from her purse and hands them to me. “I never leave home without them, not with Joey around. He’s always—” She stifles a cry with her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Joey wasn’t supposed to be there. He was next door with a neighbor. She had to run out and dropped him off just before you showed up. I tried to keep him safe. I’m sorry. I…I—”
