As Cold as Ice

chapter 11

CADEN - FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER

"You have two options," I say as I smash the crowbar across one of their pathetic fucking heads. He groans, I haul him up by the collar and kick him back to the wall.

"One, you can pack your shit and get the fuck out of LA. We know exactly who you all are, and his brother is a cop. I'll give him your ID's, tell them exactly what I know." I hold their licenses in my hand, gesturing to Miles.

A lie. Miles' brother isn't a cop. Miles doesn't even have a fucking brother.

"Or two," I spin the crowbar between my fingers, crouching down. "I'll beat you to fucking death with my own hands. What will it be?"

"We'll go!" one of them coughs. "We swear. Swear it. Please, don't hand us in."

Handing them in right now isn't something I want to have to do, considering I've almost bludgeoned one of them. But, if I see them again, I won't hesitate.

"You'll be wanted for sexual assault, smacked right on the list. Better get moving," I shrug. "I've always enjoyed a chase."

"Look, we're sorry, alright? It was just some fun." Another one of them, who I've identified as Carl from his license, hisses. He's clamping a hand to the side of his head, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Fun?" I repeat, raising my eyebrows. "You thought assaulting and attempting to rape a young woman was fun?"

He diverts his gaze. "Well, Carl. You know what I find fun?" I urge, standing up to tower above them. "Beating the fucking shit out of bastards like you."

I clip him across the head with the bar, and he releases the hand from the side of his face to clutch the back of his worthless skull.

Catching a glimpse of his ear, the blood around St. James' mouth suddenly makes sense. She must have fucking bitten part of it off.

Atta girl.

"We're sorry. We're sorry. We're sorry." One of them chants, covering his pathetic head. Miles knocks his hands away with the hockey stick.

Changed my mind. These bastards can get to fuck.

Callie.

"Shut the fuck up. You pathetic, disgusting excuse of a man," I kick Carl into the ground, hammering the crowbar against his back.

"Stop—" he snaps.

"—I said shut the fuck up. I don't like having to repeat myself, Carl Moritz." I bring it down in the same place with a thud.

Lennie.

"You'll get done for this!" He bites out, and I can't stop the laugh that rips from my throat.

"We'll get done for this? Feel free, but you'll be dragged right the fuck down with us, kicking and screaming. We're not the ones who assaulted a woman tonight." I shake my head, whacking the bar against his arm.

I turn to Miles and Isaac, who are holding the other guys down. Owen is lumbering off to the side, supposedly keeping an eye out.

"Knock them out," I say. They share an uncertain glance before nodding, pressing their arms around the bastards necks.

"You can't do this, you little piece of shit!" Carl spits up into my face as I prepare my hands against the carotid arteries. An old trick. Knocks a person out cold in a few seconds.