Page 88 of For Emery

Oh, hell no.

I jumped to my feet, frantically grabbing for the first thing I could get my hand on to fight him off. I grasped the back of the wooden desk chair, pulling it in front of me to protect me from him.

He grabbed the chair and yanked it free from my hands.

I had nothing to protect me but my bare hands. And for the first time in my life, I was ready to use them. Ready to inflict pain on the man who tried to rid this world of the woman I loved most.

The click of the door opening sent Wayne’s head twisting over his shoulder.

Jordan stepped into the room with a huge smile on his face. Everything in his face changed as his eyes jumped between Wayne grasping the chair and me looking terrified. Jordan flew forward, his fists connecting with Wayne’s face until he brought him to the ground. Jordan wailed on him. First a right hook, then a left. They came fast and furious and difficult to discern. Wayne tried to fight back, but Jordan was too strong. Too angry. Too lethal.

I ran to my phone. My hands shook as I dialed 9-1-1. I lifted the phone to my ear while watching Jordan’s relentless pursuit to exact revenge. Wayne wasn’t fighting back; he was covering his face. Blood had splattered. Wayne’s blood. I didn’t want Jordan to go easy on the man who’d hurt my mother, but I hated the rage in his eyes that Wayne brought out of him. This was the culmination of years of hatred. This was retribution for what Wayne had done to us.

“We need help,” I explained to the operator, rattling off our location and what was happening in more of a scream than a composed response. She wanted me to stay on the line, but I needed to make Jordan stop. Wayne no longer covered his face. He lay unmoving.

Had he passed out?

Been knocked out?

“Jordan, stop!” I yelled.

He didn’t. His fists had minds of their own.

“Jordan, stop! He’s unconscious.”

Jordan finally stopped, his head shaking slightly as if fighting off the rage jockeying for control of his brain. He straightened up, his eyes never wavering from Wayne on the floor.

“Is he breathing?” I asked.

“Unfortunately,” Jordan said as he moved to me, wrapping his arms around me but never taking his eyes off Wayne. “When I walked in here…” he began.

“I know.”

“I was so fucking scared.”

“I know.”

He looked to me. Blood stained his face and shirt. “Did he touch you?”

“He slapped and shoved me. But that was it.”

His gaze dropped, looking me over. “Promise me nothing else happened.”

“I promise.”

He tugged me back against his chest and held me so tightly I could barely breathe. “I saw red. I saw what he did to your mom. I knew what he did to her over the years. What you had to see. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him dead.”

“We’re okay. The police are on their way. He’ll get what he’s got coming.”

Footsteps in the hallway drew our attention to the door. Jordan hadn’t closed it when he walked in on Wayne and me, so two police officers entered the room with hands on the guns in their hip holsters. They spotted Wayne on the floor, unconscious.

“He armed?” the tall officer in front asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

He moved toward Wayne, lowering to the floor. He pinched Wayne’s wrist, feeling for a pulse.

“What happened?” the shorter officer standing behind him asked, his eyes on Jordan’s bloody fists and blood-splattered face and shirt.

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