(Dis)content (Judgement Of The Six Book 5)

After just a few hours, I couldn’t take it anymore.  The fight with Brick had been cut short, leaving me with emotions I didn’t want.  Now, Ethan’s father snored loudly from his room, emanating too many emotions even in his sleep.  I needed a break.

I tossed back the covers and scooted out of bed.  My runners were side by side in Ethan’s closet.  He’d put them there while I’d showered.  I laced them up and eased open his bedroom door. With soft steps, I crept past Ethan on the couch and gently opened the front door.

The encroaching sun had lightened the sky outside from black to not quite black.  I shut the door behind me and breathed in the air.  It wasn’t fresh.  In fact, it stank like rotten garbage and exhaust.  But it was free of heavy emotion, and I breathed easy.  The pavement called to me, and I jogged from the yard.

An hour later, I returned out of breath and bruised.  I thought I might have even had a black eye.  The idea just made my grin bigger.  Jogging in Ethan’s neighborhood was great.

The front door opened as I stretched and cooled down.

“Good run?” Ethan asked.

“The best.  I may have convinced a few wannabe thugs to go to school today.”

He laughed and offered me his coffee, which I took gratefully.

“So, what will the unemployed do today?”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, instead of answering.  I hadn’t given my lack of employment any thought.  All night, my mind had kept replaying the scene from Ethan’s place…the hit to my face, the cage bending inward, the teeth snapping at me.

“I have to go clean up,” he said, and I knew he meant the bar.

“No.”  The word came out panicked, and I took a breath to calm myself.  “You can’t go back there.  Not yet.”

“What choice do I have?  One of us needs a job.”

He said it to tease me, but I didn’t laugh.  He didn’t know; he didn’t understand.

“I need to show you something.”

I went into the house and grabbed the letter I’d shoved into my bag.  When I turned, he was in the bedroom doorway, watching me.  I handed the piece of paper to him, not saying anything.  His eyes skimmed the page.  He frowned and read it again.

“Shit.”

Fear poured from him, his shock robbing him of control.

“Yeah.”  I sat on the bed.

“What are we going to do?”

I loved him for that.  It wasn’t my problem; it was ours.  And I knew the fear he wasn’t able to suppress wasn’t for himself.  It was for me.  But, I couldn’t pull him down with me.  I wouldn’t.

“I’m going to the bank, taking out everything I have, and doing what the note says.  I need you to stay here.”

He lowered himself to the mattress beside me.  I’d expected an argument, but he sat there quietly for a moment, closing himself off emotionally as he stared at his hands.

“Want to know why I stay with him?” he asked quietly.

His question was unexpected.  Though something about his tone had me worrying about what he would say, I nodded.

“You have your parents.  They love you completely.  You stay away from them to protect them, just like you do for me.  But I saw…”  He exhaled slowly.  “Remember the day you came home with me?”  He gave a pained laugh.  “Your mom had put pigtails in your hair so it wouldn’t fall in your face when we fought on the playground.  I stood behind you, staring at your hair and cringing when you told my dad never to hit me again.”

I remembered confronting Mr. Petnu.  Ethan and I had both still been in grade school when I finally figured out why Ethan was angry all the time.  I could still feel the rage that had consumed me as I’d stood before Mr. Petnu.

Ethan looked up at me before he continued.

“And when he fell to the floor, I wanted to cry I was so happy.  But not you.  Hurting him to protect me had hurt you.  I remember how you’d whispered ‘I broke him.’  You didn’t, though, Z.  You fixed him.  I’ve stayed because I never wanted you to regret what you did for me.”

I couldn’t speak around the tightness in my throat.

“All you’ve ever wanted was a friend.  That’s who I am.  And that’s why I’ll follow you.  Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and no one else I’d rather be with.”

It hurt so much.  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I threw my arms around him.  He held me close while I fought not to cry.  I was the reason he’d stayed with his dad.  But, by staying his friend, I’d trapped him in more than just his home.  He would stay with me to face the creatures the letter mentioned.  I recalled the teeth of the thing that had brought me to the ground and knew Ethan would have no chance if they found me again.  Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go.

“You are my best friend,” I said with a tight voice.  Finally, I pulled back.  “I want one promise from you.”

“Anything.”

“If I tell you to run, you go…or I’ll make you go.  Run and find someone perfect and sweet who hates violence.  Have lots of babies and name one after me.  Okay?”

He closed his eyes and turned away before he nodded.

“Life should have been kinder and made you my brother,” I said.

A sharp, rapid knock on the front door echoed through the small house and broke the moment.  I quickly got off the bed.

“Might be one of the thugs,” I explained when Ethan gave me a questioning look.

He smiled, and with a shake of his head, he stood.  I followed him into the living room.  Ethan had already folded his blanket and picked up while he’d waited for me.  I wondered how often he did that for his dad.

Through the diamond of smoke-stained glass that decorated the window of the front door, I saw the top of a dark mop of hair.  A step behind that head, I caught a glimpse of blonde.  They were definitely not the thugs.

Ethan reached for the knob without looking through the window.  His trust humbled me at times.

As soon as the door opened, anxiety, fear, and desperation flooded the room.  It all came from the girl with the dark mop of hair.  Her emotions were so loud, she drowned out what the girl behind her might be feeling.

“Hi,” the dark mop of hair said, meeting Ethan’s gaze.  “Is Isabelle—?”  Her gaze shifted to me.  Some of her desperation faded as joy lit her face.

We stared at each other a moment while I waited for her to say what she wanted.  But she kept quiet, staring at me as if I were her long lost relative or something.

Then, suspicion crept in.  First the letter, then the weird dog attack, now strangers showing up at Ethan’s and asking for me?  No one knew I was here.  I didn’t recognize her.  How did she know my name?

“Who are you?” I asked.

Ethan shifted and started to close the door at my distrustful tone.  The girl’s expression quickly changed to one of frustration as she placed a hand against the door to stop it.

“Look, shutting the door in my face won’t answer the questions you must have.  How about letting us in so we can talk?”

Before I could tell the two girls to get lost, the blonde spoke up.

“My name’s Gabby.  This is Bethi.  We’ve been driving for a week just to find you—”

Find me?  Panic jetted my adrenaline.

Knocking Ethan to the side, I grabbed the door and slammed it in their faces.  I heard one of them cry out as I grabbed Ethan’s hand.

Run.  Hide.  The words echoed in my mind while my pulse jumped, and I felt a sliver of fear.  I needed to get Ethan out of there.  I pulled him with me to the kitchen, not ten feet away, and toward the back door.

“She’s running,” I heard a girl shout from the front.

Ethan kept up with me.

“Z, what is it?”

“It’s them,” I said, pulling the backdoor open only to stop abruptly.

A man stood outside and held up both hands in a pacifying manner.  I wasn’t in the mood to be calmed.

“We just want to talk.”

“No.”

I dropped Ethan’s hand and breathed in, pulling the man’s urgency and caution away.  With the next breath, I took his concern and lifted my fists.  I struck out, hitting him in the face.  His brows rose, but he didn’t move much.  I didn’t stop.  I clipped him again and, like a breeze, I ruffled his russet hair.

The two women rounded the building just then, followed by another man.  He had thicker shoulders than the first guy.  Worried that I wasn’t causing enough damage, I pulled from all of them.  My skin started to itch.

“Stop!”

I didn’t turn to see which girl yelled.  I focused instead on the man before me.  The next blow snapped the russet-haired man’s head back.  When he narrowed his eyes and came back around with a swing of his own, I stole his aggression and went for his ribs.  He grunted in pain.

Humor burst from someone in the group.  The unexpected emotion almost distracted me.

“Clay, don’t laugh.  Help him,” one of the girls said.

Ethan moved to block whoever was coming to help.  I knew he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Ethan, run,” I said as I dodged a swing.

Anger and fear flared.  I grabbed those emotions too, spun around, and hit the new guy in the face.

Someone cried out.  The other man grabbed my arms, pinning me.

“Isabelle, enough,” Bethi said.  “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t think so.”  I pulled hard from the emotional soup they’d made.  First, the girls fell to their knees.  Worry drifted from their men.  I pulled again, and the arms around me loosened.  Then, the men went down.

I turned and yanked Ethan to his feet.  Despite his last minute effort to block me, he looked faint.  When I pulled hard, I couldn’t target.

“Sorry, Ethan.”

“S’okay.”  He took a deep breath and managed a few stumbling steps.

The strangers were starting to move.  I wanted to pull more and knock them out, but I couldn’t risk Ethan.  The men struggled to their feet.  Ignoring us, they went to the girls and started to help them up.

“Come on.”  I pulled Ethan behind me, and I made for the front of the house where we’d parked.  “Do you have your keys?”

Before we stepped around the rusted fender that separated the side yard from the front yard, I felt it again.  The black hole.  The void of emotion.  With the group behind us and our car in front, we didn’t have a choice but to face the thing that had chased me into the alley.  I wanted to swear.  Our chances of escape were slim.  I tightened my grip on Ethan’s hand and stepped forward.

The man I’d glimpsed at the bar, just before he’d turned into a dog, stood in the front yard.  He had to be at least six and a half feet tall and close to three hundred pounds.  Even with his hands loosely in the pockets of his dress pants, his biceps bulged beneath his shirt.  I swallowed hard and eyed his neck.  The width of it competed with the width of his jaw. He was built for fighting.  My heart skipped a beat at the same time my stomach plunged to my toes.  His precisely combed dark hair and pressed slacks were obviously meant to mislead his opponent.  Was there any chance for us?

My gaze drifted to the older man who stood beside the fighter.  He’d put the chokehold on the beast once before.  However, he didn’t look like he would offer any help this time.  His light grey gaze studied me, and I felt a hint of hope and sorrow from him, an odd combination of emotions.

Focusing on the fighter once more, I tried to come up with a plan.

The man’s dark brown eyes flicked to my hand, the one wrapped around Ethan’s, before meeting mine.  Something in that glance had me stepping protectively in front of Ethan.

“Isabelle,” the man’s low voice sent a shiver of dread through me, “let the boy go.”

He was right.  Ethan wasn’t involved in this.  They wanted me.

“Ethan, this time listen.”

I released his hand and gave him a nudge before sprinting at the man.  Instead of trying to hit him—something he was sure to anticipate—I dropped.  Balancing on my hands, I kicked out a leg and hooked him behind the knee with my calf.  As he buckled, I used the hold on his leg to pull myself up behind him.

He landed in a three-point stance with his head bent as if in prayer.  I twisted and grabbed a piece of rusted metal from a nearby pile.  Ignoring the jagged edge that bit into my palm, I swung my ghetto weapon at his head.  But he was too fast.  He turned, caught my wrist, and tugged forward.  He pulled me off balance, and I landed on his knee like a little girl on Santa’s lap.

Our gazes locked.  My breath heaved in and out as my stomach cramped with fear not my own.  Crap.  Ethan.  I heard him struggling with someone.  He hadn’t run.

The man’s eyes didn’t waver from mine, and I realized he wasn’t moving.  Neither was I.  I still had another hand free.  I needed to pull more—

“You’re bleeding.”

The man’s steady voice confused me.  Why didn’t he sound angry?

I could feel Ethan’s fear, worry from three of the people, and annoyance from another, but nothing from the man holding me by the wrist.  I hated not feeling anything from him.  I couldn’t steal what I couldn’t feel.  How could I fight him?

As he stood, pulling me up with him, his fingers trembled around my wrist.  A weak hold?  I swung with my left arm.  Not a strong swing, but it was better than just standing there.  He caught that wrist, too, leaving me no choice.  If I couldn’t pull emotion from him, I’d pull from everyone else.

I breathed in Ethan’s fear, the group’s worry and impatience, and the neighbors’ desolation and hopelessness.  Carefully, I pulled what I needed without reducing Ethan to an immobile puddle.  Again and again, I stole from them.  The man watched me breathe in and out.  The emotions expanded within me, a ball of raw power.  My insides hardened.  My muscles twitched.  The man before me frowned as he studied my face…my rage.

A quick twist freed my right hand.  He didn’t try to reclaim it, and I narrowed my eyes at him.  What game did he play?

I breathed again, taking everything I could and stomped on his foot.  He flinched, and I pulled my other hand free.  My skin tingled painfully.  Too many emotions swirled within me.  I struck out and connected with his face.  His head snapped to the side.  My wrist crunched.  It should have hurt, but I was too full of everything else and didn’t feel anything.  He frowned.  I swung again, but this time he blocked it with an open palm.  His warm fingers curled around my fist for just a moment.  I pulled back and tried again.

He blocked each strike, moving fluidly with me.  The pressure behind my skin eased.  It was like I was back in the play yard with Ethan.  A small smile broke free with that thought.

The big man’s dark eyes drifted to my mouth, and his expression changed.  He caught my next swing and pulled me forward.  Off balance, I fell against his chest.  His arms wrapped around me, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck.  His chest expanded against mine as he breathed deeply.

Shocked, I wrenched on his ear and slipped out of his arms.  Then, I did the most girly thing I’d done in a long time.  I slapped him.  With my cut hand.  It left behind a bloody handprint.

He stared at me a moment, then reached up and touched his cheek.  He looked at his hand, at my blood smeared on his skin, and his whole body began to tremble.  Vaguely, I recalled seeing him do the same thing a moment before Brick had hit me in the face.

I backed up a step.  He didn’t try to follow.  I backed up three more and risked a quick look behind me.  The two guys loosely held Ethan.  I understood why he didn’t try to break free of their weak holds when he glanced at me, to the man, and back at me again.  He had watched me take down some crazy huge men in the past.  No doubt he’d figured out the mountain before me wasn’t the same as those guys.  The mountain wasn’t normal.

The older man who’d stood aside and watched us fight heaved a sigh.

“Carlos…” he said.

My feet slid back a few more steps.  Carlos’ eyes drifted to the hand at my side.  Though I knew better, I glanced down at it, too.  The slap had caused it to start bleeding in earnest, and a drop fell from the tip of my middle finger to the ground.

“Isabelle, stop,” one of the women said from behind me.

I rolled my shoulders.  I couldn’t take them all in a fight.  If they were regular people, maybe.  And I couldn’t drain them, not with Ethan already weak and within range.  What did that leave me?

“Isabelle, I promise, we’re not here to hurt you,” the same voice said.

“The world is full of promises waiting to be broken,” I said.

I’d learned the truth of that at a young age.  Even the promises made with the best intentions could crumble because of circumstance.  I thought of the note and of Ethan as I took a deep breath, ready to pull everything in.

“The more you pull, the tighter you feel on the inside.”

The words stopped me.  I finally turned and eyed the speaker.  She was the one who’d knocked on the door.  She looked young and had vivid blue eyes that contrasted with her dark hair.  She was also the one who leaked desperation and fear.  Were they using her too?  I thought not.  The russet-haired man beside her hovered protectively close.

“Fighting helps.”  She stepped closer.  “But if you pull too much in, your nose starts to bleed.”

She was right.  I’d learned that when I was still young, before I’d met Ethan.  I couldn’t remember now what had made me angry with my parents, but I could remember what I had done to them and how my nose had bled afterward as I’d bent over their slumped bodies on the floor.

They know what you can do.

The phrase repeated in my head.  I would not be used to hurt people like that.  Adrenaline pumped through my veins.

“No.”  The word echoed off the houses.

I gave Ethan an apologetic look, and he immediately closed himself off.  I hoped it would save him.

I pulled harder than I ever had before.  First, the four by Ethan collapsed to the ground.  Then, the older man went to his knees, his surprised gaze on me.

The man before me remained unaffected while Ethan slowly started walking toward the car.  My friend’s steps were measured and unsure.  Yet, to save us both, I’d need to take more.

The man stepped toward me and lifted his hand.  I pulled again as he reached forward.

“Stop…Isabelle…you’ll hurt…”  The dark-haired girl’s head hit the dead grass, and her eyes rolled back.

My skin tingled as if all of me had fallen asleep and was just starting to come to.  But he didn’t stop.  Curling my hands into fists, I wondered if I finally had enough to down him.

His fingers touched my cheek, then gently wiped my upper lip.  I jerked back from his touch and saw the blood.  My blood.  I sniffled, realizing my nose was bleeding.  That wasn’t good.

His eyes bore into mine for a moment, then he stepped aside.  Stunned, I watched him lift one of the girls from the ground then straighten with her in his arms.  He walked toward the backyard, carrying her.

Ethan’s car roared to life, pulling me from my shock.  The big guy wasn’t going to fight me.

I ran for the car and got in.  Ethan didn’t wait for me to close the door.  We peeled away from the yard as the man stepped around the corner empty-handed.  My last look was of him bending to pick up the other girl.

*    *    *    *

“Hands up, now,” Ethan said.  He paced the small space of our room, moving what he could out of the way.

My head hurt, and my eyes didn’t want to focus.

“Now, Z!”  He swung at me.  I automatically blocked.

“Stop.  Wait,” I said.  “I can’t…”

He swung again and connected with my arm.  My already tight skin throbbed.

“Stop being a girl and get those hands up.”

I jabbed at him, but he dodged my pathetically slow move.

“Again,” he said.  His hits were more like nudges.  He was trying to piss me off, and it was working.

I shifted my weight with my next swing and hit his arm.  Long ago, I’d stopped aiming for his head or vital spots when we sparred.  I didn’t want to hurt him, not in a permanently damaging way, anyway.

“Come on, twinkle-toes.  Dance.  Move.  Do something more than swing those little toothpicks you call arms.”

Scratch that.  He was going to lose some teeth.  I swung harder, aiming for his mouth.  He laughed.  Jerk.  He continued to block each pathetic blow.  My swings were too loose.

Focus.  I shook my head and stepped back to roll my shoulders.

“That’s my girl.”  His soft voice and sad eyes told me just how worried he was.  He’d kept his emotions tightly blocked the whole drive, but now they were starting to slip.

We fought quietly in the motel room for thirty minutes before my nose stopped bleeding and another thirty before my skin stopped throbbing.  It still ached, but I called a stop regardless.

“We can’t stay here,” I said, moving to the bathroom.  I grabbed a hand towel for each of us, tossed one to him, and used mine to wipe the sweat and blood from my face.

“I don’t know what they are, but I think we need to listen to that letter.”  The towel muffled my words.

“All right.”  He snatched the keys up from the table.  “I’ll get what we need and be back in four hours.”

I laid a hand on his arm as he passed, stopping him.  His gaze met mine.  I had no words for how much his simple agreement and willingness to help meant to me.

“Just come back.”

He nodded and left.

Still in my running clothes from that morning, I went to the hotel’s meager exercise room and hogged the treadmill for the next hour.