Page 12 of Rastor

I was paying. That's what I was doing. And I wasn't done yet. Not by a longshot. I raised the iron again. This time, I smashed it against the side view mirror. The mirror held, so I hit it again. It hit the pavement and broke on impact.

Chloe grabbed at my elbow. "Don't!"

I turned to face her. "Why?"

"Because it's stupid!" She was trembling now, eyeing the destruction with wide-eyed horror.

Obviously, it was making an impression.

Good.

I hated that it was upsetting her, but I had to finish this. She had to know I was paying. She had to know I'd keep paying, that there was nothing that mattered as much as her. Justice, that's what she wanted, right? Well, that made two of us.

I tried to keep my voice level. "Isn't this the kind of justice you wanted? My car trashed? That's what you said, wasn't it?"

"No!" She tightened her grip. "This isn't what I wanted."

Maybe not. But at this point, it was the only thing I could do to prove my point, to make her see that I was deadly serious.

I looked into her eyes and softened my tone. "Well, I do." Gently, I removed her hand from my elbow. "Because, Chloe, let me tell you something. Compared to you, this car means nothing to me."

I turned and strode to the passenger's side. I raised the iron high in my hand. "Compared to you, it meanslessthan nothing." I bashed off the other mirror, and then walked to the front, where I destroyed both headlights, leaving shattered glass on the dark pavement.

She was yelling now. "Stop it!"

No. Not yet.

I raised the iron higher and slammed it down on the hood, leaving a huge dent in the glossy finish. And then, I did it again. And again. I kept at it, watching as the sleek lines were pounded into an ugly, mangled mess.

I didn't stop until the sound of a new voice, this one male, broke my focus. I turned to see Chloe arguing with the same guy who she'd been talking to earlier – the shaggy-haired idiot who'd dropped her on the pavement.

Whatever he was saying, Chloe didn't like it. So neither did I.

I dropped the iron and strode toward them. "You," I said, giving the guy a hard look. "Get away from her. Now."

With a shrug, he stepped away and turned toward my car. "Oh man." He smiled. "That is so messed up." He held out his cell phone, camera style. "Total viral." He stepped closer, zooming in on the hood.

I spared the phone half a glance, recalling what the older guy had told me earlier, about Shaggy's phone getting busted up. The way it looked, he'd found a replacement. Big deal.

He could take all the video he wanted. On my list of problems, this was too low to register. Or at least, that's how I felt until Chloe lunged toward the guy and said, "Stop that!"

He shook his head. "No way."

She turned and gave me a pleading look. "Are you just gonna stand there and let him take video of–" She gave a vague of her hands. "–this?"

The guy spoke up. "It's called freedom of the press, baby."

I felt my fingers flex. Baby?

Shaggy turned to call over his shoulder. "Am I right, or what?"

"Got that right," said a voice in the crowd. Yeah, people were watching. Maybe a dozen or so. Some were taking pictures – or whatever – with their phones. So what? I was long past caring.

But the way it looked, Chloe cared enough for both of us. She looked down and covered her face with both hands. "Oh my God," she groaned, looking way too unsteady for my liking. "This isn't happening."

Instantly, I was at her side. I placed a hand on her elbow. "Chloe? You okay?"

She gave a bark of laughter that kept on going. It grew into a crazed, foreign sound that tore at my heart. She was losing it. This, like everything else, was all my fault.