“I’m your fuckin’ nightmare.” He stomped a boot forward. “Now, run!”
“This ain’t none of your business, dickwad!” the other bully snarled, wiping the back of his hand over a bloody lip. Which meant one of the college kids must’ve gotten in a lucky punch.
Tripp raised his right arm and fluttered his fingers, taunting the two fools to come, try him. “It’s you who’s got no business being here. Run. Tell your friends. I’m coming for every last one of you.”
The weaker of the two stepped back and grabbed the other’s sleeve. “Come on, Monkey. Let’s go.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Chum.” The ballsy bastard stomped a menacing boot back at Tripp. “Why don’t you run, shithead? Go home to mommy. These streets are ours. Tell her I said so!”
Big mistake. Tripp hadn’t come here to argue, and no one badmouthed the woman who’d raised him—ever. He didn’t growl. Didn’t waste another breath on this loser. Just attacked. Head down. Head on. Right shoulder tucked. Left fist first. Threw a punch straight into Monkey’s ugly face. Then followed with a blistering barrage of left, right hooks to the guy’s soggy middle.
Monkey wheezed, but never raised a hand to block the shots.
Tripp ended the one-sided fight with an over-handed punch to the guy’s head, then an upper-cut to his big chin. His face was hamburger by then, and he was out cold. As stiff as a corpse, he planked face first. His forehead bounced on the hard-packed ground.
TKO. If he lived. Tripp was long past caring whether murderers like these five survived the brutal beatings he dished out. Just like Anwar Khan, the Crimson Sword of Allah, these guys thought they were untouchable. He fuckin’ thought otherwise.
With evil intent, he turned to the last bully standing, but by then, Chumley was gone, and the two college kids were shakily helping each other to their feet. “Hey, m-mister,” the taller one sputtered. He was holding his gut with both hands and blood from his nose ran down his chin and neck. “You saved our lives. Th-thanks.”
“Yeah,” the shorter kid wheezed. “My mom and dad’ll want to meet you.”
“You’ve got parents who care?” Tripp asked in disbelief. It wasn’t that long ago that people disowned kids who were ‘different.’ “Then why the fuck are you out here tonight? Why aren’t you somewhere safe? In a coffee shop or… or home?” He’d almost said, “in bed,” but figured these guys didn’t need any encouragement.
“Yeah, sure,” the short guy huffed. He was on his feet by then, unsteady and leaning into his friend. Hell, they were both leaning. “We’ve got parents. Good parents. But moms and dads get a little overprotective sometimes, you know what I mean?”
“And now you know why,” Tripp snarled. “You know where the free clinic is over on King Street? Go there. Get yourselves checked, then call an Uber or a cab and go straight home. Talk to your parents. Tell them what happened here tonight. Just leave me out of it.”
“You’re really a good guy,” the taller kid breathed. “You’re like one of the Avengers. You’re a hero.”
“Like hell I am.”
“You’re my hero,” Shorty murmured.
Tripp cut the hero-worship, star-struck, bullshit off. “No, I’m not. Get the hell out of here, and forget you ever saw me!”
“Yeah. Sure,” the shorter kid said again, his voice so damned gentle and patient, Tripp worried he’d met an actual canonized saint.
Stabbing a gloved finger in the general direction of the clinic, he bellowed, “Go!”
“We’re going. But if you ever need any—”
“I said get the hell out of here! Run!”
Finally. That vehement blast propelled the two back across the bridge, over the gate, and out of the Preserve. Tripp followed in the shadows, needing to be sure they made it to the clinic without more trouble. Which they did. Once they were inside, he intended to call it a night and head home. Morning came early. So, did his real job.
Chapter Two
Darn. The sun had set hours ago, and Ashley Cox was late leaving her office. Really late. She’d been promoted today. She was now an outreach coordinator for Alexandria, Virginia’s Health Department. As a newly appointed, trained public health educator, it was her job to locate and teach—if possible—individuals in need of a certain type of preventative medical care. Unfortunately, the real teaching these guys needed had more to do with keeping their pants zipped, than how to eat nutritionally or perform emergency CPR. And therein lay Ashley’s problem. She didn’t like most men. The belligerent sperm-donor in her life was the worst role model a daughter could get. Then, there was that other guy… No. Not going there.
Stalled at the building’s front entrance glass doors, she debated the benefits of staying the night inside, as opposed to walking outside to get to the metro station. She could sleep here. Why not? Her office was small and tidy, not as large as her boss, Terry Chandler’s, but it was clean. She could sleep on the floor. Her light jacket would make a decent blanket. She could freshen up in the women’s restroom before anyone arrived tomorrow morning. Who would know?
Sure, the couch in her boss’s office would make a more comfortable bed. But his office also had floor-to-ceiling windows, and windows weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Ha, ha. She rolled her eyes at that unintentional pun.
The Department shared their one-level brick building with the twenty-four-seven free clinic on its west end. As dark as it already was outside, anyone standing on the street could see inside when the lights were on. Like those in the lobby.
But if that person wanted to break in, all they had to do was step past the tidy beds of trimmed wintergreen boxwood shrubs, and those huge windows in Terry’s office wouldn’t stand a chance. Not like there were drugs or cash or other valuables inside the Health Department, because there weren’t. But because the world had grown a lot meaner lately. Some people
