"You have got to be kidding me," complained Lopez. "Those two are gonna break in…”
"We were here first," Jon Boy protested as his cherubic face darkened into a scowl, watching the two men slink into the house.
“So, what do we do?” asked Spanner.
A muffled scream pierced the air a moment later and Darien's decision was made for him. "All right, let's go,” he said. “Forget about sneaking in, let's take this place." He got to his feet and pushed his way through the bush, then charged across the lawn for the deck. Footfalls thundered behind him as the entire group followed suit. They raced up the short flight of wooden steps on the deck and pounded across the wooden boards. Jon Boy’s steps made the entire structure shake.
As Darien had suspected, the woman had neglected to lock the sliding door. He slid it open and stepped in. He immediately heard the sounds of a struggle. The woman screamed upstairs, and a high-pitched laugh was followed by a meaty smack. Darien imagined a backhanded strike to the face of the pretty woman might make that kind of sound.
His blood boiled, and his hands clenched into fists as he rushed into the kitchen where the fat burglar stood, eyes wide. Criminal though he was, he couldn't abide anyone that struck a woman, especially someone up to no good. He'd been told by several associates in his long career outside the law that his code of conduct was not only arbitrary, but potentially foolhardy in his line of work, but Darien had never cared. He'd always seen himself as a modern-day Robin Hood—a good chunk of the profits that he’d garnered from the theft of rich people’s cars he happily donated to women's shelters around Charleston. He lived a modest life as a result but socked away enough for a comfortable retirement in a few years. He’d made a promise when he himself had been young and seen his mother abused in the few precious years he’d shared with her, that he would never stand by and allow that to happen in his presence again.
It was one thing to fight domestic abuse with anonymously donated money to battered women's shelters and orphanages. Putting his fist between the eyes of an abuser was quite another—although much more satisfying.
Darien felt the bones of his knuckles pop as his fist collided with the greasy, pocked nose attached to the fat burglar’s surprised face. The man staggered back and clutched at his face with meaty, thick hands, and groaned in agony. Unfortunately, the man easily outclassed Darien physically. The man hadn’t been felled like Darien had wanted—he roared, rage in his eyes, and charged across the kitchen. Just as Darien realized he'd made a terrible mistake, the world around him darkened and Jon Boy’s massive bulk slipped in front of him like a panther. One sledgehammer swing from his fist, and the oversized burglar—who now looked comically small—crashed to the floor with all the grace of a drunk water buffalo. He didn't move and didn't get up.
A shout of alarm from upstairs signaled the unlucky burglar’s partner had clued in on something untoward downstairs. Footfalls echoed down the main stairway toward the front of the house. Darien stood with his hands on his hips and waited with the rest of his crew.
The skinny burglar burst into the kitchen and skidded to a stop as he tried to adjust his pants. "What—” he began, then his eyes fell on his teammate, prostrate on the floor, and Jon Boy, who towered over the body with clenched fists.
Darien shoved the skinny burglar into the arms of Spanner, who held him tight. Cisco and Lopez rounded on him, and the man quailed in fright. “D-don’t hurt me!”
“Hold him for a minute,” Darien ordered. He turned and took the steps to the second floor two at a time and found the woman on her knees as she sobbed, nestled in the corner of the hallway. As he approached her, she threw her hands up and screamed.
Darien froze and showed his open palms, then took a knee in the middle of the posh hallway. "It's okay—I’m not here to hurt you. Did that guy do anything to you?"
"Why," the woman said through sobs, as her hands hovered over her face. "Is that how you get off?"
Darien felt his cheeks warm. "No,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I want to know so I can decide whether to kill that human stain downstairs or not.”
The woman gasped, then let out a slow shuddering breath. She lowered her hands, and despite the ugly red welt on the side of her face and the tear tracks that smeared her makeup, she had the makings of a very pretty face. However, Darien realized she was no 30-year-old. She was very pretty, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized she might even be close to his own age.
"Well, well…she can smile," he said with a grin.
"I hope you do kill him," she hissed with sudden vehemence. "Breaking into a person's house like that—how dare he!"
Darien leaned forward and rested his elbow on his knee. "Tell the truth now, this ain't your house either…is it?" She stuttered for a moment, but he recognized the brief tell as her eyes widened. ”It's okay, I'm not here to judge," Darien said and waved away her attempt to explain. "My boys and I have been walking since the waves hit Charleston. All we’re looking for is a place to spend some time out of the sun and maybe find some water or something to eat. We were fixing to walk into this neighborhood and start knocking on doors," he lied, "when we saw you moving around inside the house. Before we could
