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And then—
Understanding lights in his eyes like fire. He takes a step back from the door and shrugs. “Okay. I’ll call you later.”
I push the door closed. Move slowly and carefully toward the twins. In the hallway, Will’s footsteps retreat, getting softer and softer.
The push bar on the stairwell door squeaks.
It slams shut.
My eardrums feel tight with how hard I’m listening. How hard I’m believing that he’ll come back. That he really did understand. That he’d never leave me here.
“Good work.” The asshole shoves his gun back into his waistband. “Now, where were we? Oh. You were going to tell me which place in this city hired your thief of a father. Because I’m not sure—”
The apartment door bursts open, the noise so loud I’m sure it’s come off the hinges, and Will races inside.
Mia screams. It’s high, supercharged terror and I rush for the twins, throwing myself in front of them.
Will’s at the gunman so fast he doesn’t have time to reach for the gun. He looks like a nightmare with all his bruises and height and speed.
I’ve seen my dad try and fail to hold his own in a fistfight. I’ve never seen anything like Will Leblanc in a real life-or-death situation.
The other guy scrambles, his hands useless, for all of a second before Will hits him.
I’ve never been a fan of violence. Never liked wrestling on TV or fights outside shitty apartments or how my dad could never win.
But Will’s left hook is both beautiful and devastating.
Mia screams again when fist meets face and the gunman goes down hard. I can’t tell if he’s reaching for his gun or his head when Will scrapes him off the floor and hits him again. Blood from his nose streams down and darkens the collar of his shirt.
The gunman tries for one, weak hit. Will brushes it away and punches him in the gut, all the force of his body rotating into the movement.
This man seemed so strong in the hallway with his hand over my mouth, but now he folds like crumpled money. The fight is lost. His face is covered in blood, and his head lolls to the side. If it weren’t for Will’s hand on his shoulder, he’d be laid out.
It’s over.
But Will’s not done.
26
WILL
There’s no money now.
There are no hundred-dollar bills to hold me back.
No ref, and no ring, and no rules.
Only me and this motherfucker and a haze over my vision like blood, like pain, likeI’ll make you wish you were dead.
I’ll make him wish he was dead.
Every time I hit him, he shows me more of his weak spots. I pummel all of them. It’s like an investment. Like a contract. Go over every line of the goddamn thing and take it apart.
I’m taking this guy apart.
My fist slips on blood. Does he think he’s walking out of here again? Does he think he’ll ever touch anybody again? Does he think he’ll lock me in? Is that what he thinks?
Ring all the bells you want. Ban me from the warehouse forever. This isn’t going to happen again. Not to Bristol.
