Getting Rowdy

The fool charged at the same time that Rowdy adjusted his stance to kick out—and he broke the man’s elbow. The knife fell from his hand and into the rough gravel. Rowdy moved in, punching him in the face, once, twice, a third time.

Dropping to his knees, the man swayed.

With one final kick to the chin, Rowdy sent him backward in a heap.

Behind Rowdy, someone applauded.

He spun around, and there was Cannon leaning against the side of the brick exterior wall of the bar. “Now that was more like it.”

Dumbfounded, Rowdy said, “I didn’t hear you.” Which had to mean the younger man was good, because no way was Rowdy slipping.

“Just got here,” Cannon said. “I would have helped out, but looked like you had it handled. Mostly, anyway.”

Rowdy opened and closed his fists, not quite satisfied with the damage he’d done.

Not sure he could ever be satisfied when it came to child abuse.

Struggling to get his shit together, Rowdy forced a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I was curious.” Cannon accidentally kicked Darrell as he stepped forward. “And you did offer me a free drink.”

Rowdy looked at Cannon, then at Darrell sprawled on the ground, a hand at his gushing nose, bruises swelling his face and the side of his head. Darrell’s cohort gave a faint moan, still out but starting to come around.

The black cloud of destructive anger continued to swim before Rowdy’s eyes. He blinked to clear things up, then rotated his head, doing what he could to flex out the coiled tension.

The sirens grew louder before suddenly stopping. Great. Just the type of advertisement his place didn’t need. He worked his fists again. “That drink will have to wait.”

“Yeah?” Cannon shook his head at Darrell when he started to move. “Why’s that?”

Logan stepped out of the alley, gun drawn. When he saw Rowdy standing there—doing his damnedest to look relaxed—he relaxed, too. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” But he knew he wasn’t.

From the other side of the bar, Reese cursed. “Pigheaded fool. How can you be okay when your back is covered in blood?”

“Knife,” Cannon said, apparently not discomfited by the bloodshed or the appearance of cops. He nodded at Darrell’s backup. “If Rowdy hadn’t gotten so sloppy, it would have been a perfect performance.”

“And you are?” Reese asked, while lifting Rowdy’s shirt to survey the damage.

Rowdy did the introductions. “Cannon Colter, meet Detectives Logan Riske and Reese Bareden.”

“Huh.” Cannon moved to inspect Rowdy’s back, too. “Somehow I didn’t figure you for the type to hang with cops.”

“I’m not.” Rowdy tried to shrug Reese away. “My sister married Logan.” He glared at Reese. “This big oaf came along as part of a package deal or something.”

“Can’t you just feel the love?” At six feet six inches, Reese towered over almost everyone. He glanced at Cannon. “I take it you aren’t part of the trouble?”

“He’s not.” Rowdy’s knees started to feel wobbly, meaning he’d lost too much blood. Shit. “They attacked me.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Avery told me when she called.”

Two uniformed cops joined them. With a quick order from Logan, they cuffed the goons and began reading them their rights.

Logan looked at Rowdy, a brow cocked. “Wanna tell me why?”

Why not? He had a lot to say, and maybe not a lot of time to say it before he just might pass out. “These two wanted to shake me down. Something to do with a drug deal they’d made with the previous owner.”

“It was bound to happen.” Reese holstered his weapon and grabbed Rowdy’s arm. “Sit down.”

“I think I will.” Rowdy’s legs more or less collapsed under him. The rough gravel dug through the denim of his jeans to his backside, but he refused to complain.

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Logan stated, and although he had his “I’m in charge” voice going, Rowdy heard the concern.

“Don’t even think it.” Rowdy tipped his head toward the bar. “There’s a kid in there with Avery. Darrell brought him here, and I’m pretty sure he’s his son.”

Sensing there was more, Logan waited.

“Don’t let him go anywhere. I mean it, Logan. He’s...” He’s me, when I was a kid, and I know just how f**ked that can be. Rowdy blew out a breath. “I’ll take care of it. Of him, I mean.” Somehow.

“We have people for that,” Reese said, and he ripped Rowdy’s shirt in two. Thankfully, his back was mostly numb. He barely felt it when Reese used the shredded shirt to clean up some of the blood so he could see the actual cut. “Jesus, was he trying to fillet you?”

Unconcerned, Cannon checked it out for himself. He touched, prodded and, somewhat satisfied, said, “You know how to move, so it’s not that deep, but you’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“He’ll live.” This time Reese was pulling Rowdy back to his feet.

Why, Rowdy didn’t know. He only knew that he didn’t want Marcus caught up in the system. “Listen to me, Logan. I’ll help the boy myself. I’ll get a few stitches and be right back—”

“The emergency room takes forever,” Cannon informed him. “Looks like you’ll only need one layer of stitches. I think you avoided muscle damage. But still, you’ll be lucky if it only takes four or five hours.”