Page 85 of The Prez

“Not yet, but he’ll be fucking dead soon.”

Chance pauses, then says, “I’ll take my time then.”

I hang up and make my second call. “Jace. You, Pete, and Zeke get down to Highway 12. I’ll need clean up after I’m done with this bitch.”

Tossing the phone to the passenger seat, I open the door and slam it roughly when I exit the vehicle.

Brock blinks dazedly, looking over at me as he squints in the lights. “Help me,” he murmurs.

Snarling, I grab him through the window and pull him out, tossing him against one of the tree trunks. His back bows as he cries out, sliding to the ground.

I march over to him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He surprises me by taking a swing, hitting me in the side of the face. My cheek throbs and my eye smarts, but I don’t let it show. I smile at him before I head butt him, dazing him again.

He slumps to the side and I shake him hard. “Look at me, bitch,” I snarl.

Brock does his best, his head lolling as he tries to hold it up. “What did I … do to you?”

“I told you to stay away from my property. My Omari. And you didn’t fucking listen.” His eyes grow wide and he tries to scramble away, but I hold fast to his shirt. “You beat him to within an inch of his life. Now I’m going to take yours.”

He cries, scratching at my arms and hand, hoping I’ll let him go, but I won’t be denied.

Standing, I bring Brock with me, putting pressure on his throat. His face turns red from the effort to breathe. His fists swing wildly, but I easily dodge them, squeezing his throat harder.

Before he passes out, I drop him at my feet. He drags in a deep breath, but before he can get too much air in, I kick him in the gut three times, putting all my weight behind it. The heavy boots connect with his ribs and diaphragm, making it hard for him to inhale or exhale. Brock curls into a ball, grabbing my foot to stop my abuse.

I kneel beside him, flipping him over so I can put my weight on his chest. “This is for what you did to my fucking man,” I roar before I pummel his face, hitting him over and over. His nose breaks and blood flies everywhere. He screams with every hit, but I don’t let up.

When my arm gets heavy, I stop punching him and stand, looking down at the mush that makes up his face now. But Brock isn’t dead. He’s groaning and twitching, his hands sloppy as he tries to cover himself.

“You tried to take advantage of him,” I say and stomp on his chest. Brock jerks but doesn’t cry out. “You turned his best friend against him.” Again, I stomp on his chest, feeling the bones crack. “You tried to kill him. But guess what? You failed, bitch. But I won’t.”

I lift my foot again to bring it down on his face, but I hear a shout behind me. I wheel around, chest heaving as I lowermy foot and raise my hands. Brock turns—or his head flops—in the direction of the voice as well.

A man in uniform enters the clearing, gun raised at both of us. Brock lets out a sound of relief and through swollen lips says, “Officer.” His voice is garbled and I can barely make it out, but I hear him plead, “Help me.”

The officer walks over to us, gun still raised as he looks down at Brock. “Fucking hell.” He looks back up at me and smiles, holstering the weapon. “You fucked him up.”

I scoff, lowering my hands. “I’m not done here, Chance.”

He shrugs, stepping back and leaning against my SUV. “I ain’t stopping you. I’ll be here to help with clean up.”

“No, please … Officer,” Brock croaks. He tries to reach out to Chance, but Chance just raises his hands as if he’s not involved in my business. I kick Brock in the face, causing him to curl in on himself.

I kick him in the back and side repeatedly, making sure he gets the same injuries as Omari. His cries and whimpers fill the night and I smile. He deserves all the pain for what he did to Omari, who has never hurt a soul. For Omari, who didn’t deserve to have the shit kicked out of him for trying to survive. For Omari who he tried to use for financial gain and when that didn’t happen, knocked the shit out of him. He won’t get away with it.

Lowering myself until I’m straddling his chest again, I grab both sides of his face and slam his head on the ground like Omari said Brock did to him. His cries fill me with more joy than I thought possible. I love knowing he’s in pain. I chuckle at the thought of what Omari would say about me loving anything.

By the time I finished, I have an audience. Jace, Pete, and Zeke rest beside the SUV with Chance, watching me.

I wipe my face and stand, blood staining my hands and all down my front.

Brock pants under me, groaning in pain. Standing by his head, I tell him, “You shouldn’t have fucked with what’s mine.” Lifting my foot, I slam it down on Brock’s face once, twice, three times until his skull gives way.

His body twitches for a few seconds, then goes still.

I stumble back from the body, breathing heavily. Zeke catches me before I fall on my ass, holding me up. “You’re good, Prez. You did good, brother.”

Pete walks over with a towel, wiping my hands and along my face. “That was good fighting, Prez. You might have to give me some pointers before my next match.”

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