Page 97 of Kings Against the World

“Zoe,” I growl, this time rougher. “Who. Did. This?”

I already know the answer. We’re outside her family home. She was fleeing fast as if desperate to reach the other side of the street. My gaze travels past her for a look at the house behind us—the old, sagging porch, the weak glow of the porch light, the cigarette butts littering the cracked steps. The screen door offers a preview of the mess inside.

It bangs open a second later, loose on its hinges.

Her father emerges, his features contorted in fury.

The blood in my veins heats up as our gazes connect and I’ve got the sudden taste for violence.

“Get the hell away from my property!” he shouts, his speech slurred.

“You did this?” I yell back at him. “You hit her?”

“None of your damn business! Who the fuck are you?”

“Somebody about to beat your ass for putting your hands on her!”

Her father stumbles down a porch step, fists clenched like he’s ready for a fight. “Disrespect me again and you’re about to be on the floor!”

Rage explodes inside me like a match tossed into gasoline. I let go of Zoe so fast she staggers back, my feet already carrying me toward him.

“Answer me, you piece of shit!” I’m in his face now, snatching at the front of his shirt, yanking him forward. The stink of beer and cigarettes rolls off him, making my stomach turn.

“Let go of me!” he snarls, trying to shove me away. “You’re about to be laid the fuck out!”

“Ozzie, no! Just leave it!” Zoe’s behind me now, grabbing at my arm.

Leave it? After he didthisto her?

“How I deal with my daughter is a family matter. It’s none of your damn business!” He swings on me, sloppy and slow.

Anticipating the move, I duck out of the way, then slam him back against the porch column behind us. The wooden pillar rattles from the hard collision.

I press my forearm hard against his throat, cutting off his air enough to make him sputter and squirm. His breath hitches, panic flashing in his bloodshot eyes.

“Listen real carefully, old man,” I growl, my voice deadly low. “The only reason I’m not knocking you out cold right now is ’cuz your daughter’s asked me not to. So you’re gonna do exactly what I say.”

He gasps for air, hands clawing weakly at my arm barred across his throat. I press down harder, watching his face go slack from lack of circulation.

“Say it,” I order. “Tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you’ll never lay a goddamn hand on her again.”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I press down even harder.

“Say it!”

A strangled wheeze escapes him. “I’m… I’m sorry. I won’t… won’t do it again.”

“Louder!” I bark. “Mean it!”

His whole body trembles between me and the porch column. “I’m sorry, Zozo! I won’t touch you again!”

I lean in, glaring at him with teeth bared. “And if you everdolay a hand on her again, I’m cutting it the fuck off. Both of them. You hear me?”

His head jerks up and down frantically.

Good.

I drop my arm from his throat and step back. He sinks to his knees, looking like a pathetic piece of shit the way he sputters for more air. Mrs. Strauss makes her first appearance, scrambling down the porch steps in tears, hurling accusations at us.

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