I haven’t talked to Rory in a week. It’s best that way. I’m spending entirely too much time thinking about her. I’ve seen her once or twice and she’s waved. She’s doing her best to avoid me and I’m thinking that’s best.

What pisses me off is that the more she tries to avoid me, the more I think about her. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson when it comes to women, but there’s this pull with Rory that is driving me crazy. It doesn’t mean I haven’t been fighting it like hell. I have, but I have a fucking bad feeling that this is one battle I’m not going to win.

I know staying here today with Rory so close is torture. It’s close to the time to pick up my boy, so I’m going to leave early and go into town and buy a damn prepaid phone. I’ve got an old contact in Florida that might help me find out who in the fuck is behind these attempts on Ryan. There’s no way that Vicki is smart enough to do this on her own.

Until now, I’ve tried to keep it contained in my own club. But, I left my club and that means I left those resources behind too. That leaves me calling in a marker. It’s fucked up that I can trust an outsider more than I can my own club, but it doesn’t change the truth. Marcum Kincaid has a club down in Florida and he’s one stone cold motherfucker. If anyone can help me, it’d be him. If I’m going to burn a marker, it’s a good one to use.

I walk outside to see someone lurking outside of Rory’s house, trying to look through a window. My blood runs cold and I’m fighting being fucking pissed off.

“Can I help you?”

“I don’t know you, so I don’t see how,” the man says turning to face me. He’s tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, but still tall. He’s bulky, carrying more weight than me and from the looks of his arms, it’s due to weights and steroids. He probably thinks he’s impressive, but one fucking kick to the balls and those muscles he’s been shooting up for won’t mean shit.

“Seeing as how you’re creeping around outside my house I think it is.”

“It’s not your house man. It’s my wife’s.”

His wife?

What in the fuck?

“You’re married to Rory?” I ask, and I don’t bother keeping the surprise out of my voice.

Has she been playing me all this time?

Jesus, when in the hell will I learn with these bitches?

“I am,” he says and fuck if those two words don’t feel like they’re burning in my gut.

“Then why are you looking through her window and not knocking on the damn door? Or better yet, using your key to let yourself in?” I ask for the fuck of it. I don’t know why all of this is hitting me wrong—but it is.

“What I do or don’t do when it comes to Rory is my business, chump. Why don’t you just move along. This is none of your concern,” the man says.

“Chump? Jesus.”

“We going to have problems?” he asks, and his thick northern accent rings even thicker.

I’m telling myself to get in my truck and drive away. I’ve had enough drama in my life and all of it has centered around women.

“Fuck this shit,” I growl, walking to my vehicle.

“That’s it, walk away like the chump you are,” he says.

It’s been a long time. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life and my son has always been the one thing that has come first with me. I led a club and I had the men’s lives on my mind at all times and when you do that, you can’t afford to react first. You always have to think and weigh the consequences. That’s the man I’ve become and the man I’ve been for a fuck of a long time.

But I left my club.

I left my club and Ryan is at school and this fucker needs a lesson. If I’m more than truthful, he needs a lesson and I need an excuse just to beat the shit out of something. For years I’ve had this rage in me.

Fucking years.

It started with Vicki selling our boy and trying to come back. It deepened with each attempt and then the mess with Violet. A mess in which I thought I had a good woman and that woman turned out to be a lying whore who infiltrated my club to steal my boy and who knows what else… Then for years, I sat on that. I sat on the river of bitterness building inside of me. I sat on it even when it became clear that one of my own was probably involved. I sat on it until it forced me away from Crusher, Devil, Fury and all the boys who had become not only my brothers, but my family. I did what I had to do to protect my son. I thought through all my choices. I weighed the consequences of each choice and…

I did what I had to do.

Now is fucking now and I’m tired of weighing choices and options. I’m tired of worrying about consequences and most of all I’m damn tired of little cockroaches like this motherfucker talking out of their ass. So, I don’t think. I don’t do anything but react.

I charge at the motherfucker. He might be bigger, but that just means he’ll fall harder. I keep a piece of 2x4 in the back of my truck. I could lie and say I do it because I’ve been working on shit, but that’s not it. I don’t keep my gun out in the open with Ryan around and I take great pains never to scare him. That 2x4 is there because of all the shit that we’ve gone through. If I’m going to get waylaid again, I need something quick I can grab for defense.

I grab it on my way to this fucker, but not for defense. I grab it to knock his legs out from under him. It’s not fair, but someone needs to teach this asshole that fighting fair is just another way to die.

I see the moment he knows what’s up. His eyes go as round as motherfucking saucers, but it’s too late for him to plan his escape or a defense. I swing wide and strike against the shithead’s knees. I don’t do it light. I have years of anger inside of me and I let that bleed through the entire swing. He lets out a scream that will probably bring the neighbors alert and get my ass thrown in the slammer, but right now I do not give a fuck.

No consequences.

Once I have him down, I hit him one more time and not because I needed to. It was simply because it felt good. Then I toss the wood to the side and introduce my fists to his face. He swings and gets in some decent shots, but he’s too caught up in his pain for it to do anything more than piss me off more. I stop seeing his face. I start seeing all of the shit that has been swirling around me, stalking my child and I strike it over and over—which is to say, I fucking strike him over and over—to the point that my knuckles are raw, but I don’t give a fuck.

“Stop! What’s going on?!?!” I jerk up as Rory screams from her door.

The minute I do the asshole pushes against me and scoots away on his ass.

That’s when I look around and see there’s a crowd of people around us. It’s Rory my attention comes back to.

“Tony?” she asks her face going white.

White with fear.

It’s then I remember the conversation I had with Rory. I don’t know why I didn’t before, probably because seeing him like he was and hearing him say he was her husband burned in my gut. It felt like jealousy and that fucking pissed me off too. But now I remember. I remember her words.

“It’s not the hitting that sticks with you, you know.”

Motherfucker, I should have hit him harder and I probably would have, except that’s when the sirens get into range. I hear them and I know that whatever is going on, I’m going to be in jail.

“How did you find me?” she asks, her voice pale.

“You applied for a teaching job, Birdie. You had to know they would follow your references.”

At the use of his nickname, Rory stops going white, she looks almost green and I see her body tremble in a way that I don’t like.

“I applied for an assistant position, I didn’t think they would check for anything I didn’t put on the paper,” she whispers—almost to herself. “I’m so stupid.”

“You always were, Birdie,” the fucker says, his words labored because of the pain I delivered—but obviously not enough. “But it doesn’t matter. Your brother is willing to forgive you. It’s time to come home.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, her voice still quiet, but firm. “I’m never coming back!”

“You’re such a stupid cunt, do you really think you have a choice—”

He doesn’t get any further. I saw how Rory blanched at his words. I didn’t like them, but seeing her reaction—I really didn’t like them. They bring her words back to me again and this time they sucker punch me.

“It’s not the hitting that sticks with you, you know.”

I’m done. I go back after the motherfucker and I don’t stop this time. He gets some hits in and some were damn hard, but I don’t let up. I’m still going after him, even as the cops pull me off of him. I’m still trying even as they place the cuffs over my wrists and the paramedics start working on the sack of shit because he can’t walk.

The only time I stop is when they put me in the back of the police cruiser. It starts to rain and I look through the glass of my window, the rain making tracks on it and blurring Rory’s face from my view. All I can see is her glorious head of auburn hair and her hands moving as she tries to talk to the cop. Maybe she’s trying to talk him out of arresting me, maybe she’s asking him to take us both away. I don’t know.

These are consequences.

I should regret them, but I know if that motherfucker was still in front of me, my hands might be cuffed behind my back, but I’d still be kicking the shit out of him.