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“Is that any way to speak to Elle’s daddy, TJ?”
A chorus of mumbled protests from the more lucid partiers filled the void left by the music. Cash turned, pushing Elle behind him but keeping a hold of her hand. “You. You set this up.”
Tyrone stood in the opening leading to a cluttered, filthy kitchen. He placed the wireless speaker he’d apparently just turned off on the counter, crossed his arms over his bulbous belly, and slouched negligently against the wall. “All I did was suggest TJ have some buds over. Your girl and her pansy friend could have said no. The rest...just happened.”
Berserk fury swamped him. He grabbed the asshole by the front of his shirt and smashed his fist into the leering face. Tyrone shouted, blood pouring from his nose, and swung a wild overhand that connected viciously with the side of Cash’s head. His ears rang and eyes watered, but his grip on Tyrone’s damp shirt didn’t slip. He jabbed, quick and fierce and powerful, knuckles sinking deep into a soft flabby gut.
Tyrone doubled over on a sharp gasp and Cash let him drop to the floor.
With shining crystal clarity, he knew he was going to kill the bastard. Knew he would gladly go to jail for the rest of his life to protect his daughter. He drew back his foot, clad in its heavy motorcycle boot.
“Cash! No!” Penta stepped between them.
“Get out of my way.” He could have lifted her to the side, but didn’t want to stain her with the hands that had punished Tyrone.
“I won’t. I won’t let you do this.” She pressed her palm to his chest. At her feet, Tyrone rolled to his side, retched, and vomited. She didn’t budge.
“He planned this. Hoping someone would hurt Elle. Because of me.”
“Don’t do this. Not here. Not now.”
A muscle juddered at the corner of his eye so hard Penta flickered like a mirage on the horizon. Of course she didn’t want him to beat the crap out of the piece of shit. She would rather speak sternly, maybe take away his cellphone privileges as if he were a teenager, not a grown man who had known exactly what he was doing.
Elle appeared at his elbow. Her lips trembled. “Please, Dad. Let’s go. Please.”
Her terrified gaze bore into him. The red haze obscuring his vision receded. What had he been thinking? She’d been through enough tonight, without having to watch her father brawling.
Moving with stiff heaviness, he took Elle’s hand once more and tugged her out the door. He didn’t look back, but sensed Penta following.
He wasn’t surprised to see Cyril huddled on the curb at the end of the walk, head in his hands. Penta wouldn’t have left that house without him. Still struggling to regain his sanity, he halted on the sidewalk.
Penta bent down and picked up their helmets, lying discarded on the hard-packed grass of the front lawn. “Cyril took Felix’s car. Without permission and illegally, since he hasn’t passed his Novice test yet. I’m going to drive him home. Are you okay taking Elle on the bike?”
He absorbed her words sluggishly. The last time he’d felt so detached from reality was standing in the courtroom hearing his sentence decided. “Yeah.”
“I want to go home, Dad.” Despite the warmth of the night, Elle vibrated with shivers. She wore only a thin tank and denim shorts that barely reached her thighs, so Cash shrugged out of his sweatshirt and dropped it over her, leaving himself bare-chested.
Penta offered her helmet to Elle, then held out his. Cash accepted it, careful not to touch her. She prodded Cyril with her foot. “Let’s go. If you throw up in the car, you’ll be cleaning it the minute we get home. I don’t care how awful you feel.”
The boy rose with careful movements, wobbly and weak. Once on his feet, he spared Cash a miserable glance. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Penta motioned toward the car. “We’ll talk about it later, when everyone is calmer.”
“I want to go home. I need to go home.” Elle’s high falsetto revealed she was at the end of her endurance.
“We’re going.” He led her toward his bike. Penta and Cyril went in the opposite direction.
He’d always known his time with Penta would end, had wondered what would be the final straw. This was worse than anything he’d ever imagined.
And nothing more than he deserved.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As Penta pulled away from the curb, Cyril rolled down his window and stuck his head out.
“If you’re going to be sick, tell me and I’ll pull over. Otherwise, it will just end up splattered down the side.”
He made a pained gurgling noise and waved a limp hand.
