Page 36 of Fighting Fate (Monsters of London #4)

Vince

God, I love having Saturday as a day off. No longer working at the gym means that I have to do absolutely fuck-all today, so I’m lounging around on my bed with headphones on, listening to music at full blast.

So what if I fuck up my hearing? I’m relaxing .

Nick’s out doing the big shop. I offered to order online, or go with him, but he wants to pick up a friend’s birthday present too, so he said he’ll be gone a while. I think he wants the alone time, and I can’t blame him.

Jamie’s in the garden. We’re having an unseasonably warm week for June, so he’s trying to soak up the little sun I’m sure we’ll get this year. I made him a drink earlier when I went to grab one of my own, but I think he’s quite happy pretending I don’t exist.

Not that he’s in a bad mood again. Sure, it’s only been one full day since Thursday’s class, but I think Dax really got through to him. I roll onto my back and grin up at the ceiling. It’s looking more likely that I might be able to arrange some alone time with him soon—and I’m tempted to make sure either his flat or my house is empty when I do. Fuck going slow. I want his hands on me.

Tomorrow, maybe? Dax usually goes to Kieran’s after Sunday’s class, and Nick and Jamie will either stay in or go grab food somewhere together. I close my eyes and drum my fingers on my stomach. Kieran won’t mind if I turn up. Drew always cooks enough to feed a small army.

Satisfied with my plan, I reach for my phone, switching from one playlist to another. My window is wide open—not that it’s letting any breeze in, what with how still the air is—and I sit up when I hear a strange sound.

My heart skips a beat. I pause my music and tug my headphones off, letting them drop onto the bed.

For a moment, I don’t hear anything suspicious. Kids playing in a back garden further down. Music blasting where someone’s having a barbecue. It’s all—

There’s a thud from downstairs and a choked sound. I leap to my feet and tear my door open, almost tripping down the stairs in my haste.

“Jamie?” My shout has a panicked edge. Another thud. I get down the stairs and whirl around into the kitchen. The back door is wide open, and a vicious-looking, stocky man has Jamie pinned to the wall, hands around his throat.

Jamie meets my eyes and his widen. He’s clawing at the guy—it has to be Tim—but he can’t get free. Fuck.

I grab a pan off the side and whack Tim across the back of the head. Hard. He swears, grip loosening, and it’s just enough for Jamie to twist and get free of his hold. He darts behind me and when Tim turns, rubbing his head, I square up to him.

“Get upstairs and lock the door. Call Kieran.”

I don’t look back. Jamie’s footsteps are fast on the stairs, though, so I don’t need to.

Tim glares at me. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils too wide. Is he fucking high? Maybe, to think this is a good idea. I don’t drop the pan, but I raise my other hand, trying to keep distance between us.

“You don’t want to do this.”

His lip curls back and he charges me. I grunt when he catches me around the middle, bringing the pan down on his back a couple of times.

Fuck. Whatever he’s on has really fucked him up. He shoves me against the table, and I drop the pan, instead getting a leg between us to kick him back. He crashes into the counter, sending pots flying. A plate shatters on the floor.

I need to get him outside. I’m not wearing shoes, and it won’t be long before Kieran arrives. I know that.

Tim darts at me again, but this time I’m ready and force him over towards the back door. He hasn’t bust it, but I see that same section of broken fence and swear under my breath.

Fucker’s probably been breaking into our garden for weeks.

He swings at me once we’re outside, and I duck out of the way of the clumsy punch, aiming my own at his ribs. I need him down, which means he’s got to hurt, at least a little. Problem is, I don’t know how much pain he can feel right now.

We grapple, Tim grunting and swearing as he tries to get me out of his way. “I’m gonna kill that little bitch,” he snarls, and I punch him hard enough in the mouth that his head snaps back.

He spits blood and tries to shove me off him. “You should have left him the fuck alone.” I know I’m not supposed to fight angry. Not supposed to fight, full stop.

But oh, if I don’t want to, for once. Fuck this guy. Fuck the way he’s made Jamie scared, fuck the way he’s tried to ruin his life.

I punch him again and again, and Tim struggles against my hold but can’t break free. Whatever’s in his system, it’s not stopping him from feeling this. Fucking good. And when Kieran and Sam get here—because I know Sam will come with him—they can take this piece of shit and do whatever they want with him.

I hear something. It takes me a second to realise it’s my name.

“Vince!”

I look up and to my left. My fist throbs, and Tim makes a broken, pained sound.

Dax is standing there, worry etched all over his face. I frown, and he gestures at the fence, the way Tim must have managed to get over.

“Let’s take him inside,” he says, and his voice is soothing, like he wants me to stay calm.

I am calm. Well, angry. But calm enough that, when I look at the absolute mess I’ve made of Tim’s face, I don’t feel anything but satisfaction.

Dax comes close slowly and puts a hand on the back of my neck. “Come on,” he says quietly. “We’ve got him. Jamie’s safe. Let’s take him inside, though.”

Inside. Why?

Noise rushes back in, drowning out the sound of my heart hammering in my ears. Tim is crying, it sounds like, his breaths wet in a way they shouldn’t be. Further down, the kids are still playing. Friends are still barbecuing.

“Yeah,” I say, and my voice shakes. “Let’s get him inside.”