Page 19 of Shattered Dreams
On the floor, by the bed, Teke was face down and not moving. Guess he’d had too much booze with the drugs he snorted up his nose. I used my foot to roll him over—and goddamnit, there was a gun in his limp hand.
Fucking A. Now where the hell did he get that nine mil?
It wasn’t a surprise that my brother had somehow gotten a gun. But why was it in his—wait. Was he going to shoot me?
I wasn’t planning on finding out. Not sure if the damn thing was hot, I kicked the gun out of his hand as I stripped off the towel. Then I picked the weapon up with the towel, checked that the safety was on, and placed it next to my bag.
The broken lamp hanging off the nightstand caught my eyes. That was coming out of his pocket, not mine. The stupid asshole deserved to pay for it, especially after he dragged me here to fight.
The next time he wanted cash, maybe he should be the one in the ring. Or he should get a damn job—right, that would never happen. From now on, Teke was going to have to find his own way to earn money. I was done being used as his mule.
I didn’t bother waking Teke up, just left him lying in the shattered glass. I quickly got dressed, threw on a hoodie, and packed my shit in the duffle—including the gun, and dropped the keys for Teke’s piece of shit car onto his chest. The last thing I wanted was for my brother to accuse me of stealing his ride.
As I turned to leave, my brother surprised me, and clocked me in the back of the head. I stumbled forward—the momentum had my body crashing against the door. I quickly righted myself, spun around and blocked Teke’s next swing before it landed on my face. Guess he wasn’t completely out of it after all.
“I told you to never hit me again. You just don’t listen,” I growled.
Teke grunted, then started swinging like a madman. He got in a few lucky hits to my ribs and one to my face. This time, though, I wasn’t going to be a willing target for his rage.
I threw my blows, harder and faster, aiming for his face and kidneys. My fists were a brutal force but Teke wasn’t going down. He was a tenacious son of a bitch.
“Wer the furck ya’re goin’, pussy? Runnin’ back home?” Spittle sprayed from his mouth; saliva dripped down his dirty, scruffy chin.
Now how could I have forgotten that Teke was meaner when he was hopped on drugs and booze? Alcohol, especially, made him feel invincible. Then add the drugs, and my only choice was to knock his ass out. Or he’d keep coming at me.
“I’m done with this. I won’t fight for you anymore, Teke,” I hissed, then dodged his right hook and came back with an upper hook, catching him on the jaw.
He swung again and missed. “If ya quit, how’re we gonna eat? What about Dad?”
“That won’t work on me anymore. I’m through.”
“Where’re ya gonna getta job? No one wants an ex-con.” More spittle flew past his lips as he raged on. This was Teke’s way of keeping me under his thumb. I was finally done doing his dirty work.
“Don’t worry about me. You should be thinking about yourself.” Like you always do.
Teke kept bouncing around, taking wild swings at me, while I dodged them and countered. “Ya musta got too many hits to yar thick skull? Noo-body wants a jailbird?”
He knew how to hit below the belt. That last verbal shot hit like a real punch to my nutsack.
“If it wasn’t for you stealing that car, I wouldn’t have gone to jail.” I jabbed.
“Don’t furcking blame me. No-one said to be a he-hero.” Teke barked out a laugh before he spat at my feet, adding to the insult.
“Well. I learned. I’ll let you hang next time.”
“I say—” hiccup, “when you’re done, motherfucker.” He kicked out and nailed my outer thigh.
He tried to tackle me, but I kept the upper hand. Teke might be older and meaner, but I was bigger, faster, and stronger.
I twisted away, got behind him, and put all my hundred and ninety-seven pounds of muscle and bone into the gravity of the punch. The blow landed on the side of his head. The second my fist made contact, my brother twisted, and dropped like a rock onto the carpet. He was out cold.
I stood there for a short moment, breathing heavily, and watched blood trickle from his nose and his chest go still. I bent down and touched two fingers to his neck and found a strong pulse. His rhythmic heartbeat was steady.
I didn’t want to kill my brother, only incapacitate him. Though, I felt no remorse or doubt that Teke had deserved this ass kicking.
Since he wasn’t dead, I picked up my duffle and hoofed it out of there.
When I’d gone about a mile down Jackson, I finally slowed my stride into a steady walking pace, trying to not look suspicious. I didn’t trust the police—not after what they did to me.
