She starts to cry, slapping my breast with her tiny hand. I murmur pleas while manipulating my skin against her open mouth.
It’s no use.
She won’t drink.
My heart races as I carry her to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and push items out of the way. Opening the canister, I hear his key in the lock and shove it back, pushing mayonnaise, orange juice and broccoli back in front of it.
I hastily shut the door and bounce her in hopes that she’ll quiet. He appears in the doorway and jerks his chin up to ask, “What's her problem?”
“She won’t eat. I’ve been trying to feed her, but she won’t latch on.”
“What kind of mother are you?” He lumbers into the kitchen, passes us to open the refrigerator. “Why aren’t you able to feed your man or your baby? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He slams the door shut and I back up, hugging her to my chest even as she cries. The sound is growing more desperate as she senses my fear.
“Vic, I might need to get some formula and a bottle from the store to help her. If she won’t eat…”
“You’re not giving that shit to my child!”
“But she’s crying! She’s hungry!”
Vic lunges for us. I step back and hit the wall. He pulls my shirt down and yanks my breast free, pressing my nipple into our screaming daughter’s mouth. “Stop fucking crying, Celia! Eat!”
Fear knifes through my blood as I sway, dizzy, and urge her, “Please Celia, please honey.”
Vic shouts at her, “Shut the fuck up!”
A knock at the front door surpasses his volume, three loud bangs and then, “Police! Open up!”
My eyes dart toward the sound, but there’s no hope in me. I wouldn’t be surprised if Vic ignored them until it was too late.
Rage slices across his eyes. ”You called the cops?”
Shaking my head I reassure him, “I swear I didn’t. How could I have done that? You’ve seen me the entire time you’ve been here. You just walked in.”
The knock crashes against the door again. “Open the door now!”
Celia cries between us. She hasn’t stopped. Victor sticks his finger in my face while using his free hand to shove my breast back into my bra. “You better keep your mouth shut, Stacy.”
The knocks keep coming as Vic storms into the other room to answer it. He shakes out his shoulders and adopts the expression of a normal human being. It’s believable and disgusting.
He swings it open while I peek out from the kitchen. Our daughter won’t stop screaming. From this vantage point I can’t see who’s on the other side, but when I hear the familiar voice my heart quickens. “If she’s hurt, I’ll kill you.”
Under my breath I moan, “No!”
Tonk snarls, “Why don't you step inside the apartment and make this really easy for both of us?”
I'm shocked to see Victor’s feet moving backwards and it isn’t until I see the head of a gun come into view that I understand why.
Tonk closes the door, and flicks a glance my way. In an instant he sees the stress I’m under but for some reason his face does not move. He is in a state of otherworldly calm. “Stacy, come stand behind me.”
Vic cuts a hate-filled glance my way. Celia won’t quiet, she hiccups with sobs. The tension is so thick my legs feel heavy as I start to walk.
My baby’s daddy hisses, “You’re not going anywhere. Who the fuck is this guy? You cheating on me?”
He lunges for my legs. A shot rings out and echoes off the walls and in my ears. I can’t hear anything but my heartbeat. Tonk kicks Victor out of the way as he falls, grabbing his thigh, blood oozing from his jeans.
Tonk rushes over to us and I scream his name as Vic wraps a strong and driven hand around his calf. Tonk twists his body and punches Victor in the nose with the butt of the gun, cracking the bone. Vic’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls back, unconscious.
Speechless, my ears ringing, I stare at the heap as Tonk urges me, his voice loud because his hearing is compromised, too. “Get your purse. Get anything you need. But get it quickly.”
His gentle fingers touch Celia’s head before I hurry into the bedroom. In a matter of moments I’ve swiped up a few of her pants and shirts, her pink blanket, my bag.
In the living room I find Tonk pointing the gun at Victor’s unconscious face. He motions for me to walk behind him so that I’m safe. With shallow breaths and my daughter red-faced and hiccuping, I walk into the sunlight of a beautiful spring day.
My head is foggy.
I’m on autopilot.
Every cell in my body tingles.
With fear.
With excitement.
With hope.
Tonk shuts the door and there is no sign of his gun as he strolls casually up to us, placing his comforting hand on my lower back as he whispers, “Act normal.”
CHAPTER 9
T ONK JR.
T his is one of those moments when even in New York, you wish you had a car.
Stacy and I move at a rapid clip to my apartment. I reach for Celia, voice low as it shakes. “May I see her? We need to walk faster and she’ll get heavy.”
“She’s hungry.” Stacy’s breath skips. “I need formula. She’s going to draw too much attention to us. She won’t stop crying.” Stunned arms hand little Celia to me.
“It’s going to be okay, little princess. I’ve got you.” Locking eyes with Stacy I say, “Let’s just make it clear as we move that we need formula and that’s all we need.”
“Okay.”
I’m hugging Celia close so she feels secure as we walk and talk about it in normal volume so people know we’re finding a solution to this baby’s problem. Many smile with understanding and make room for us.
One older woman says, “I know that feeling! I had three!”
We laugh and keep walking.
A block away from our destination, our sanctuary, I whisper, “Almost there, you’re safe,” and flick a glance to include her mother in this promise. She holds my look.
As we near the stoop she asks, “Where can we get formula?”
“There’s a bodega just around the corner, one street west. They’ll have some. Do you have a particular brand or…?”
“Right now that doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.”
“But thank you.”
As we pass my building, she and I cut glances to the quiet of it. How we want to be inside there right now. Her boyfriend could appear at any minute. He has no idea where I lay my head at night but this child is a siren heard for blocks if you were searching. We’re vulnerable.
“What am I doing?” I groan, flipping around.
With questioning eyes, Stacy remains with me, hurrying back toward my place. I usher her into my building, muffle Celia’s cries by closing the door with a rough tug to ensure the lock engaged.
“Tonk—”
“—I’ll go to the store alone as soon as you two are safely inside.”
We run up the stairs, our footsteps echoing along with Celia’s wails. The sobs are halting. She’s running out of steam, or she’s distracted from the bouncing. I don’t know much about children this young but I can’t wait to learn. Another level of human nature for me to investigate and help. Sounds right up my alley.
As the key lets us in, Stacy is stroking her baby’s head. “Soon, honey, soon.” Her arm falls as we enter the occupied space that for once isn’t congested with pot smoke.
Daniel appears in his bedroom’s doorframe, eyes pretty much sober, voice urgent as I lock the deadbolt. “You got them? Stupid question. What do you need from me? How can I help? I aired out the place like you asked.”
“Dan, I shot him in the leg, and broke his nose.”
“Whoa!”
“He might be looking for us right now.” Handing Celia over to Stacy I lock eyes with her and run my hand down the side of her worried head. “I’ll be careful. You stay with Daniel. He’s a good guy. He knows what’s going on. I had to tell
him because he’s my roommate. But I’ve lived with him for more than a year and his character is sound.” Glancing over I add, “If not a little lazy.”
The corners of Daniel’s lips twitch. “Guilty on all counts.”
“Let’s not use court language right now.”
Us joking like this wins a small smile from Stacy. I give her a kiss, our first, and hold here for just a second as comfort travels between us.
“Hurry, Tonk. Be careful.”
“I’m going to grab whatever they have and get the hell out of there.”
“Wait,” Daniel says, stepping forward. “Where are you going?”
“Celia needs formula.”
The levity vanishes from his face as his eyes dart around. He’s even less of a fighter than I am. At least I had training, no matter how much I loathed it and bowed out early.
I rip my jacket off the chair and snatch one of Daniel’s Mets hats from a hook. Slapping it into place I tell him, “Lock the door behind me!” and run down the stairs.
At the bottom I pause before walking outside and back into visibility. There is a small window in this old wood door. Through it I scan both directions for feet underneath a bush or anything that might tip me off that he is out there biding his time.
Taking a deep breath, I merge with foot traffic, face casual, footsteps falling with a naturally fast New York City pace.
Speed walking is fine.
If I run, I’m obvious.
Blend in.
That’s the key.
My heart is hammering as I covertly survey my surroundings, mind on high alert, face passive. The red hand is lit when I get to the intersection, but nobody cares. Few residents obey these lights anyway.
You have an in, you take it.
And I’m taking mine.
I edge away from the sidewalk, the bodega in my sights. Glancing over my shoulder I don’t see that bloody-nosed monster heading in this direction. He’d stick out. I’m in the clear. For now.
A yellow taxi zips by, and I cross so quickly I touch its back bumper with my leg.
Rows of colorful blooms line the store’s exterior. I snatch tulips from a bucket as my feet don’t miss a beat. These gold petals look pretty good to me.
Of the jaded owner behind the counter I quickly ask, “Baby formula?” She waves like she’s trying to swat me out of her line of vision, directing me to the farthest aisle.
I pass rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with everything you could possibly need at a last-minute notice. Confused, I find she directed me to the refrigeration aisle, but no baby products are anywhere to be found.
I race to the end, past yogurt, cheese, cold cuts, and turn right.
Thank God.
Snatching a bag of diapers with the right age range on them, and the priciest formula in three seconds flat, I head up to pay.
Adrenaline is a magical drug.
This feeling fuels my family back home, but it just isn’t how I want to live. Life should be easy going, filled with joy, love, and earned memories you’ll never want to forget. That’s what I’m looking for and I see it shining back from Stacy’s eyes whenever I look into them and whenever I dream about them when she’s gone.
I followed her home even though she had begged me not to. After she went in, I watched him return. As soon as he disappeared inside I called Daniel, told him my plan even as it was seething to fruition in my protective mind.
I give him credit for being on board without hesitation. I lucked out when I got him as a roommate. He said, “We’ve got room!” and aired out the apartment out of respect to the beautifully innocent little lungs that were about to join us full-time. And he did a pretty damn good job with no notice.
Slow fingers scan my items into an old cash register that should have been thrown out twenty years ago. One of the ways these people get to be rich is that they’re so cheap. But who wants to live like that? If you’re going to sit behind that thing and look at it every single day for hours, maybe invest in something from this era, and clean it? Why the brown gunk crusted under taped messages telling us which credit cards won’t be accepted?
Disdainful eyelashes flick to my face as she informs me the amount due. My credit card gets me out of here before she can even finish, “Have a good—”
“You too.”
Strangers of all nationalities come at me from both directions, all with expressionless faces. Because of my mental state, there’s something eerie about them. Every set of eyes I glance to won’t look back at me. A crowd of hypnotized people.
I’m searching for him before I burst into my apartment building and sprint up the stairs. Sliding my key in the lock it hits me: from here on out behind this door will be me, my girl, and her child.
And Daniel.
“Tonk, you’re back!” he says as they both rush over to me while I lock us in.
Stacy stares at the golden tulips I offer and her eyes liquify as she hugs her daughter close.
I inform them, “Now that we’re all inside we have to call the police.”
Daniel pulls out his phone while I take Celia from her mother’s arms so that Stacy can prepare the formula.
It all moves so fast.
Blocking his number, Dan gives them Stacy’s address and says that he suspects a woman and her baby are in danger. He heard screaming, things broken behind locked doors. They need to hurry. He thinks he heard the woman scream just now.
Stacy’s breaths are short as she works fast while I hold Celia. I guide them to the most comfortable armchair we own which sits facing the dark screen with gunshots normally exploding from the speakers. Daniel had better find a new video game to play.
“You okay?” I ask her as I kneel down beside them. Celia’s tired lips latch onto the bottle. “I got the one that came with this in the package. Is it the right brand? Is there enough nutrition? I can go back.”
Her beautiful walnut-brown eyes settle on me. “Tonk, please stay. Please stay for a long time.”
I rise up a little in order to kiss her properly. Not with tongue or anything. Just with the desperation of needing her to know how much I want for our future.
“Stacy, I will fight for you. In court or with my fists. I will protect you and Celia. When I look into your eyes I know I want them staring back at me forever. Why second guess something that feels this good?”
A knock at the door swings all three of our heads toward it while Celia’s lashes close from sheer exhaustion. Her mouth is determined to eat while she sleeps.
“That was quick,” I frown as Daniel goes to let in the police.
He shrugs, “That’s New York for you.”
“Make sure you ask who it is.”
He doesn’t hear me and opens the door out of relief to get this behind us. The monster explodes through it, sweaty, with his pants blood-stained, dark red crusted on his face.
He punches Daniel so hard he falls back and hits his head against the wall, collapsing onto the floor.
Stacy gasps, “Victor!” jumping in her chair as she clutches Celia close.
I lunge for Victor with my thumbs leading the way. I grab onto his leg and dig them both into the wound. His pain and fury bellows through the apartment, making Celia wail, and Stacy cry.
He grabs my head and pounds me to the ground, chambering his leg to kick me in the gut, and he hits his mark.
I grunt and fight for air.
Reaching around his knees I struggle to buckle them so he falls. He’s punching my head. I feel dizzy, vision blurring. I can hear Stacy calling my name, and I rasp hers.
Suddenly he’s off of me, and my head rolls on the ground. I’m panting, blinking in confusion as I watch my father throwing Victor against a wall.
My sister rushes to me, crouching as she asks, “Are you okay?”
Feeling drugged, blood running into my right eye, I nod. We look over at dad who is kicking the living shit out of a man who deserves it. “You think you can hurt my son? You think you can beat u
p on a woman? What kind of piece of shit are you? I’ll tell you what kind! The kind who’s going to prison. The kind who will never try this again because I am going to make you remember me! How about these fingers? I think you lost your right to a fist.” Dad slams his motorcycle boot on Victor’s right hand so hard we all hear the bones break. “Shut the fuck up,” Dad says at the cries of agony before silencing them with a knockout punch.
Dusting off his hands, Dad sighs and looks over at me. “You okay, Junior?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, Dad. Thanks, but I could’ve handled him.”
Blue eyes blink at me before his grin breaks free. “Hey, I was just helping out. I knew you had it covered.” He points to the gunshot wound. “That your handiwork?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice work!”
I didn’t inherit those smiling baby blues, nor did I inherit Dad’s lust for fighting. Ever since I exchanged my first boxing gloves for my first book, I’ve disappointed him. Children are trained as soon as they can understand the difference between a good fist and a bad one. That’s how I knew to go for the wound. That’s how I took this as far as I did today, because I do have some abilities even though they were never enough for him.
As I blink at him through the blood I know that all I’ve ever wanted was for my father to be proud of me, even though I couldn’t compromise who I was in order to get that pride and respect.
My sister has been the only one to glean the admiration of this man. She’s a sweetheart and a badass and I’ve always looked up to her. But her baby brother never had it in him to follow in their footsteps.
That pride shining from his eyes…I needed that today.
I feel a soft touch on my back from where I’m lying on the ground, and glance over to see Stacy squatting by the top of my head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers stroking my back.
“Who cares what it took, because right now you’re looking at me like that. Let’s do it all over again.”
She shakes her head, “No.”
Tonk Jr. (Cocker Brothers Book 19) Page 5
