Tough Love
Page 68
Stepping back, he watched her buckle up and then drive away. Thinking about all the different things he’d do with her tonight, he headed for his own car. He opened the door and was about to get in, but something—some unknown, anomalous threat—stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. He looked around, seeing all the long shadows and feeling a shift in the air.
Given the clouds, it had gotten dark early.
Eyes narrowed, Stack searched the surrounding area. He was still trying to decide if he should forget it and get in the car or go with his gut, when he heard the rushing footsteps behind him.
He turned—and dodged a fist aimed at his face.
Reacting on autopilot, he threw his own punch and connected solidly with a muscled gut. The big bruiser back-stepped but didn’t go down.
Instincts prickling, Stack turned again and blocked a small wooden bat with his forearm.
Two of them! Son of a bitch.
Seething, he looked around fast but didn’t spot anyone else. No words were spoken. Hoping his mother would remain oblivious, he didn’t call out.
The men glared at him, their intent obvious. He smiled back with eagerness.
He didn’t think this was a robbery. They didn’t want his wallet or his car.
They wanted to physically attack. Why?
He ignored the pain in his arm where he’d blocked the bat, grateful that the blow hadn’t landed on his temple, where it had been aimed.
Grateful, too, that Vanity had left before they showed up.
He took stock, rolled his shoulder, decided his arm was fine, and nodded. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t have all night.”
The big guy charged in first. Stack kicked him in the face. The jeans were restrictive, but he wore his cowboy boots, and the shit-kickers were perfect for removing a few teeth and destroying a nose.
The bastard stumbled back, a hand to his face as he teetered and fell, splaying blood everywhere.
Stack regained his stance in time to brace for the full-body impact of the other man. They went down hard to the cold pavement, Stack on his back. But he had a slick ground game and knew how to land, how to roll into a submission, and in no time he’d locked up the other fucker so tight the dude couldn’t move. Arm around his attacker’s throat in a rear choke, deep under his chin, Stack squeezed while hooking the other man’s legs with his own. He stretched him out, heard him gurgle, and then felt him go limp.
Knowing he wouldn’t stay out long, Stack shoved the body aside, did a quick frisk checking for weapons, then regained his feet. The first man was trying to slink away, his zigzagging walk leaving a bloody trail behind him on the dark street. Several of his teeth remained on the ground.
“Not another step,” Stack said, already advancing on him in case he was packing. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to disarm him at close range than be a sitting duck yards away.
The man panicked and tried to run, but it took a mere jog for Stack to catch him and trip him up.
Sprawled on the ground, the man tried to curse around his injuries. Stack divided his attention between both of the men. “Why?”
The dude shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Half sitting, the guy dug a meaty fist into his front pocket and pulled out cash. He flung it on the ground. “Fifty bucks to bust you up a little. Thought it would be easy.”
Well, hell. “No, not easy at all.”
“No,” the bloodied man agreed.
“Who paid you?”
Glaring, he repeated, “Don’t know.”
Stack quickly weighed his options, then withdrew his second phone. He couldn’t call Cannon. Hell, Cannon was probably still in bed with Yvette, round the clock if he had to guess, celebrating love and marriage in the best way—physically, sexually.
He dialed Armie instead.
In the middle of the chaos, he smiled, imagining Vanity’s reaction if she knew he’d used, as she called it, the bat signal.
Before the first ring finished going through, Armie answered with, “What’s up?”
Flexing his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain, Stack explained. He and Armie agreed on how to handle things. Armie was busy—apparently doing his own physical celebration with a couple of groupies—and once Stack assured him he didn’t need to personally show up, he promised to send backup ASAP.
Finishing the call, Stack returned the phone to his pocket.
The guy on the ground propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop forward. “Cops?”
“Naw. Worse.”
His head lifted. “Worse?”
Given the clouds, it had gotten dark early.
Eyes narrowed, Stack searched the surrounding area. He was still trying to decide if he should forget it and get in the car or go with his gut, when he heard the rushing footsteps behind him.
He turned—and dodged a fist aimed at his face.
Reacting on autopilot, he threw his own punch and connected solidly with a muscled gut. The big bruiser back-stepped but didn’t go down.
Instincts prickling, Stack turned again and blocked a small wooden bat with his forearm.
Two of them! Son of a bitch.
Seething, he looked around fast but didn’t spot anyone else. No words were spoken. Hoping his mother would remain oblivious, he didn’t call out.
The men glared at him, their intent obvious. He smiled back with eagerness.
He didn’t think this was a robbery. They didn’t want his wallet or his car.
They wanted to physically attack. Why?
He ignored the pain in his arm where he’d blocked the bat, grateful that the blow hadn’t landed on his temple, where it had been aimed.
Grateful, too, that Vanity had left before they showed up.
He took stock, rolled his shoulder, decided his arm was fine, and nodded. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t have all night.”
The big guy charged in first. Stack kicked him in the face. The jeans were restrictive, but he wore his cowboy boots, and the shit-kickers were perfect for removing a few teeth and destroying a nose.
The bastard stumbled back, a hand to his face as he teetered and fell, splaying blood everywhere.
Stack regained his stance in time to brace for the full-body impact of the other man. They went down hard to the cold pavement, Stack on his back. But he had a slick ground game and knew how to land, how to roll into a submission, and in no time he’d locked up the other fucker so tight the dude couldn’t move. Arm around his attacker’s throat in a rear choke, deep under his chin, Stack squeezed while hooking the other man’s legs with his own. He stretched him out, heard him gurgle, and then felt him go limp.
Knowing he wouldn’t stay out long, Stack shoved the body aside, did a quick frisk checking for weapons, then regained his feet. The first man was trying to slink away, his zigzagging walk leaving a bloody trail behind him on the dark street. Several of his teeth remained on the ground.
“Not another step,” Stack said, already advancing on him in case he was packing. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to disarm him at close range than be a sitting duck yards away.
The man panicked and tried to run, but it took a mere jog for Stack to catch him and trip him up.
Sprawled on the ground, the man tried to curse around his injuries. Stack divided his attention between both of the men. “Why?”
The dude shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Half sitting, the guy dug a meaty fist into his front pocket and pulled out cash. He flung it on the ground. “Fifty bucks to bust you up a little. Thought it would be easy.”
Well, hell. “No, not easy at all.”
“No,” the bloodied man agreed.
“Who paid you?”
Glaring, he repeated, “Don’t know.”
Stack quickly weighed his options, then withdrew his second phone. He couldn’t call Cannon. Hell, Cannon was probably still in bed with Yvette, round the clock if he had to guess, celebrating love and marriage in the best way—physically, sexually.
He dialed Armie instead.
In the middle of the chaos, he smiled, imagining Vanity’s reaction if she knew he’d used, as she called it, the bat signal.
Before the first ring finished going through, Armie answered with, “What’s up?”
Flexing his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain, Stack explained. He and Armie agreed on how to handle things. Armie was busy—apparently doing his own physical celebration with a couple of groupies—and once Stack assured him he didn’t need to personally show up, he promised to send backup ASAP.
Finishing the call, Stack returned the phone to his pocket.
The guy on the ground propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop forward. “Cops?”
“Naw. Worse.”
His head lifted. “Worse?”
