Page 9 of Bozo

"Out where?" Dad's voice is slurred, thick with alcohol. "It's the middle of the fucking night."

"None of your business," I snap, yanking the door open.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" Dad roars, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. "You live under my roof, you answer to me!"

I whirl around, rage boiling in my veins. "Answer to you? Like you answered to the fucking bottle all these years?"

That’s something that Gráinne and I have in common. Both of our dads are drunken assholes who get violent whenever the wind blows. Thankfully for me, as I’ve gotten older, stronger, and bigger, his violent outbursts aren’t as frequent. As for Grá, she’s small—barely five-two. She’s also timid and fragile. That motherfucker of a dad of hers is going to do some serious damage one of these days if he doesn’t lay off hurting her.

Dad's face contorts with fury. He lurches forward, but his drunken state makes him clumsy, and I easily sidestep his grab.

"I'm going out," I repeat, my voice low and dangerous. "And when I get back, you’d better not have laid a finger on Grá. You understand me?"

Before he can respond, I'm out the door, slamming it behind me. The cool night air hits my face, but it does nothing to calm the fire in my chest. My mind races as I stalk down the street, fists clenched at my sides.

Anthony. That piece of shit. I can still see Grá's terrified face when I found them. I can still hear her slurred protests as he tried to lead her away. If I hadn't shown up when I did...

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter now. What matters is making sure he never tries anything like that again. With anyone.

I know where he lives. It's not far from here, just a few blocks over. As I walk, I try to plan what I'll do when I get there. Part of me wants to burst in, fists flying. But I know that's not smart. I need to be careful, calculated. Like when I count cards for Dad.

The thought of those nights at the casino makes my stomach churn. How many times did I sit there, helping him cheat, whileMam worried at home? How many times did I let myself believe it was okay because we needed the money?

No more. After tonight, things are going to change. I'll find a way to make money that doesn't involve breaking the law or putting Grá in danger. But first, I have to deal with Anthony.

I reach his street and slow my pace, scanning the houses. There's his, second from the end. A light is on in an upstairs window. Good. He's home.

As I approach the house, I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to be smart about this. No evidence, no witnesses. Just a clear message that he'll never forget.

I step onto his porch, my hand raised to knock. Whatever happens next, there's no going back. But for Grá, for her safety and peace of mind, I'll do whatever it takes.

My knuckles connect with the door, the sound echoing in the quiet night. I wait, my heart pounding, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, I hear footsteps approaching.

The door creaks open, and there he is. Anthony's eyes widen in surprise then narrow with suspicion. He’s home alone. He’d been bragging all night about having the house to himself. His parents are gone for the week, away on vacation.

"What the fuck do you want?" he slurs, clearly still drunk from earlier.

I don't answer. Instead, I shove past him into the house, slamming the door behind me. Before he can react, I've got him by the collar, pinning him against the wall.

"Listen carefully, you piece of shit," I growl, my face inches from his. "If you ever, EVER come near Gráinne again, I will end you. You understand?"

Anthony tries to struggle, but I'm stronger, fueled by rage and adrenaline. "Get off me, you psycho!" he spits.

I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. "Do. You. Understand?"

Fear flickers in his eyes. Good. That's what I want to see.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he mumbles. "Just let me go, man."

But I'm not done. I throw a punch, the sound crunching against his nose confirms that I’ve broken it. Anthony crumples to the floor, blood gushing from his nose. I stand over him, fists still clenched, breathing heavily.

"That's for drugging her," I snarl.

He tries to scramble away, but I grab him by the shirt and haul him up. My next punch lands squarely on his jaw, snapping his head back.

"And that's for trying to take advantage of her."

Anthony slumps against the wall, dazed and bleeding. Part of me wants to keep going, to make him feel every ounce of fear and helplessness that Grá must have felt. But I force myself to stop. I've made my point. I know if I go further, I’ll be the one who lands himself in trouble, and I’ve got Grá to think about right now.

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