Page 50 of Street of Dreams
In the distance, Mac’s frantic pleas filtered through the haze. “Stop! Stop! Get off him! You’re going to kill him!”
Bruce cursed, and another blow hit Jake across his cheekbone. This time, he heard bones crunch like tires over gravel. More yelling. Glass shattering. He realized the beating stopped but still heard fists against flesh which could only mean one thing – that Mac was on the receiving end. Every part of Jake felt broken and screamed with pain, but he pushed himself to roll onto his side and grabbed at the leg of the coffee table to prop himself up. His eyes kept rolling upward and cutting off his sight. When he could focus, all he saw was a cloud of red. Cringing, he brought his hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes, finally clearing them enough to see, but he wished he were blinded again.
Bruce had Mac by the front of his shirt. Then his fist crashed into Mac’s face, opening a large gash over his eye. Jake watched, helplessly, as blood ran down Mac’s cheek almost matching the color of his hair.
The tears came first. Then the sobs. Then the boiling anger. It filled Jake with the strength of a hundred men, and he got to his feet and lunged at Bruce. He caught his old man’s arm, intent on breaking it, and then he was going to kill this motherfucker once and for all. He would end the reign of terror on his family. He wouldn’t let this piece of shit rule his life any longer, corrupt his brothers, or hurt Mac.
Blood clogged Jake’s throat, and his chest burned as he fought to breathe, but he wrenched Bruce’s arm back with everything he had. With speed and agility he never expected, Bruce flipped Jake like a ragdoll. He landed on the coffee table, splintering at least one of its mahogany legs and cracking the hardwood under his back. A jolt of pain shot up his spine and into his neck, and he couldn’t do anything except writhe in pain and worry that his back might be broken. A fist hammered into his gut causing nausea to rise in his throat, and he vomited. He tried to get up, but he ended up on the floor curled into a fetal position unable to move.
Jake lifted his head, and Mac’s blood-streaked face flashed across his sightline. He knew he needed to do something before his old man turned and hit Mac again, but he didn’t know if he had any strength left. With a burst of adrenaline, he lifted his leg and caught Bruce in the chest, but it was like hitting a brick wall with a toothpick. It did nothing except enrage the man and twist Jake’s knee painfully.
Jake found himself hurled to his feet and pushed against the wall. Meaty hands clenched his neck and squeezed, sealing off all airflow. The room began to spin, and everything turned white, but Jake dug into the depth of his core for one last fight. He brought both fists up and boxed Bruce’s ears, but it did nothing to ease the vice around his throat. The sound of Mac’s voice brought clarity, and Jake found enough stamina to focus. It was like looking through cheesecloth, but he could see Mac pounding on Bruce’s back and vaguely heard him shouting.
Jake never saw the gun, but it rang in his ears like a gong. The pressure on his neck dissipated, and air whooshed back into his lungs with a giant gust of breath which had him coughing and pawing at his throat. He began to fall sideways, sliding down the wall, but then strong hands caught him.
“Jake! Jake! Breathe! Oh my God!”
It was Mac, utterly frantic, holding Jake so he didn’t fall to the floor. Jake’s vision was still spotty, and his throat was too sore to speak, but his breathing began to stabilize, and his head started to clear. He hung onto Mac, searching his face and body for injuries. Other than a swollen eye and lip, by some miracle, Mac appeared to be OK.
“Oh my God, Jake,” Mac’s voice cracked. “You need an ambulance. Hang on.”
“Why you little fucking shit!” Bruce’s voice was a sinister mix of shock and vengeance and projected in the opposite direction.
Jake slowly shifted his bruised body, wincing sharply with each movement, so he could see past Mac and locate his old man. All he could see were the clenched fists and heaving muscles in Bruce’s back as he marched toward the entry foyer. Still hanging onto Mac, Jake steadied himself on his feet and stretched his neck in order to see around Bruce’s large frame. It caused a sharp pain to shoot across his ribcage and he momentarily doubled over, but it was nothing compared to the fear that filled his heart when he saw Ben holding a Glock. It was Jake’s gun, from the holster inside his jacket, and it was pointed straight at Bruce. “No!” Jake cried out, but Ben already shot off another round.
The bullet missed Bruce and landed somewhere in the sheetrock behind Jake. But Ben still held the gun shakily in both hands. And it was still pointed at Bruce.
“Ben, put the gun down,” Jake said calmly.
Ben shifted his gaze to Jake, his innocent little-boy eyes huge with terrifying fear.
“Please, Ben,” Jake begged, but a splatter of blood flew from his mouth, and it scared the boy.
“Leave my brother alone!” Ben shouted at Bruce, tears now streaming down his cheeks.
Bruce let out a sarcastic chortle, laced with anger. “You’re pulling a gun on me? You’re gonna try to kill me with one of my own guns?” Bruce’s voice grew louder as he slowly marched toward Ben. “You ungrateful little fucking bastard.”
“Stop hitting my brother!” Ben was trying so hard to be strong and assertive, but his voice was weakening, and his hands shook.
“Put the fucking gun down. Now!” Bruce barked.
Ben jumped and let out a small sob, but quickly steadied the gun and pressed his lips together. “No!”
“Ben,” Jake pleaded. “Please. It’s OK, buddy. Please just put the gun down.” He tried to take a step forward, but pain made him drop to one knee, even though Mac was still trying to hold him up. With one arm pressed against his aching ribs, Jake positioned himself in front of Mac. He tried his hardest to stand to his full height, but only made it halfway up. He didn’t know if it was enough to protect Mac, but he needed to act as a shield the best he could, because when Bruce got ahold of the gun, there was no doubt he would be swinging it in their direction.
“Look at me, Ben.” Jake could barely get enough air into his lungs to speak and blood was sputtering from his mouth, but he forced the words out. “He’s not worth it. Please, Ben.” He began to sob out of desperation. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. That piece of shit isn’t worth it.”
“Listen to your brother,” Bruce said, tightly, still clenching his fists.
Ben glanced at Jake briefly. His hands began to tremble, the gun now too heavy for him to hold. His gaze shot to Jake one more time before a new set of tears filled his eyes. His shoulders crumpled and the nose of the gun fell toward the floor.
Bruce lunged at Ben and ripped the gun away from him.
“Don’t!” Jake shouted, just as the back of Bruce’s hand came down across Ben’s face, sending him to the floor where he remained.
“He’s just a kid!” Mac yelled.
At the sound of Mac’s voice, Bruce spun around.
Jake was a bundle of emotions. He didn’t know who to run to first. He wanted to scoop Ben off the floor. He wanted to tackle Bruce. He doubted he had the strength to do either right now, but the need to protect Mac overrode everything else, and he stood as tall as his aching ribs would allow in order to come face to face with his old man. Cold, hard eyes bore into him, then moved over his shoulder and pinned Mac with hatred. Jake knew that look, and it scared the fucking shit out of him.
Bruce raised the gun in his hand and pointed it directly at Mac’s head, but Jake immediately stepped in front of the barrel. “You’re gonna have to kill me first.”
Bruce glared at him with disgust and contempt. “You think I give a shit? I have a cocksucker for a son. I’ll put a bullet in your head just as fast as I’ll put a bullet in his.”
Seething anger filled Jake with venom. Even though every part of him was blistering with pain and agony and he could hardly breathe, he lunged at his old man. But even at full strength, he was no match against Bruce King. The man was a wall of muscle and as heartless and mean as they come. Jake swung, barely able to stretch his arm before searing pain cut him in half, and he missed Bruce’s jaw by several inches. The pistol came down on his head like a cinderblock, and everything went black.
