Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

“Nice and easy,” he says, creeping forward with my Mom walking in front of him. “We’ll make the switch and be on our way. I knew you’d come round, Macie. I knew you’d see things my way.”

“Of course,” Macie says, doing a decent job of hiding her disgust. “It’s always been you, Derrick. I just needed you to make me see that.”

How insanely deranged must this bastard be to believe this?

The answer is very because he shoves my mother forward and then darts out to grab Macie.

At the last second, Macie spins, darting back toward us.

Derrick swears and leaps for my mother, intent to get his hostage back, but Kayla Marshall is a fierce woman and she follows after Macie.

And then I leap forward, putting myself between my woman, my mother, and these bastards.

“Fuck,” Derrick roars, as I spin around and aim a high kick at his head.

The idiot doesn’t expect a man of my size to be able to move with such fluidity, and my shoe catches him under the chin. He gasps and his head snaps back, his body deflating as all the energy goes out of him.

He collapses like a sack of shit on the concrete and then his men charge at me, yelling as they clumsily swing their fists.

I slide out of the way and let out short breaths.

“Tsk-tsk,” I hiss between my teeth as I aim three stiff jabs at three onrushing men, none of them trained if their amateur movements are anything to go by.

The momentum of their charge meets with my fist and they jolt backward.

The remaining two men charge at me, and I spin to the side and land a vicious elbow just behind the ear of one, disorienting him as I loop my arm around the neck of the other and haul him off his feet.

I spin him around as the other men come at me, made even clumsier by their injuries.

Using him like a battering ram, I fling him around and catch his friends in the face with his kicking legs, and then I toss him to the ground and step back, hands raised in a boxing stance.

The men nurse their injuries, groaning and looking at me like I’ve done the impossible.

“It’s called training, you dumb motherfuckers,” I growl. “Brawn can only get you so far. So are we going to go for round two? Because I can do this shit all day.”

They exchange glances, looks of defeat on their faces, and I know this is more than they ever expected to deal with.

I make a feint toward them, confirming my suspicion.

They overreact and leap back, and then I sprint at them, making it look like I’m about to unleash a fury of fists.

At the last second, I haul Derrick to his feet, grabbing him by his dirty black hair and dragging him backward.

I spin him around, keeping my gaze on his men just in case they rediscover their courage.

“Say sorry to my woman and my mother or I swear to God, you rat fuck, I’ll snap your neck.”

Derrick emerges from his unconsciousness, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry. Oh, God. Please. Please. I’m sorry. Macie. I’m sorry. Lady, I’m sorry… alright? I shouldn’t have… please, it hurts so damn much.”

I glance at my mother and Macie, who stand near the limo with their arms around each other.

“It’s okay,” Macie says, meeting my eye. “Look at him. He’s pathetic. He’s not worth it.”

The air comes alive with the sound of sirens, getting closer each second, so the limo driver must’ve called the cops.

I nod and toss Derrick to the floor, leaning down and driving my knee into his back.

“If you try to move, I’ll crush your fucking ribcage,” I snarl. “And if any of you bastards try to get past me, I’ll end you. Do you understand? I’ll fucking end you.”

The men back up toward the other end of the alleyway, looking around for an escape, but the only way out is past me and there’s no damn way I’m going to let them anywhere near Macie or my Mom.

Chapter Twenty-One

Macie

We sit on the balcony at an hour before midnight, looking out over the glittering city below us. We’ve spent the last few hours with the police, giving our statements, and the officer assured us that Derrick and his men are going to be looking at serious jail time.

I sit with Miller on one side of the glass table and Kayla sits on the other, holding herself with admirable poise considering everything she’s been through. I find myself studying her sharp features, her bright eyes, hoping I can carry myself like that one day.

“I’m so sorry, Kayla,” I say for what must be the hundredth time.

She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine, looking firmly into my eyes. “What did I say before, dear? This isn’t your fault. It’s his. And now, because of his own stupidity, he’s going to spend a long time in prison.”