Chapter 3
Tyler came back three days later.
I was on the porch fixing the screen door he'd broken when he ran out.
He didn't come alone.
Two men with him. Big. Mean-looking. Tattoos on their necks.
They stopped at the edge of the yard.
"Nice door," Tyler said, smirking. "You always were good with your hands. Too bad you used them for punching instead of signing."
I stood up. Wiped my hands on my jeans.
"Leave, Tyler," I said. "Before I call the police."
"Police?" he laughed. "They don't care about family business. And besides... you're the ex-con. Who do you think they'll believe?"
He nodded at his friends.
They stepped forward.
I didn't back up.
I'd fought men twice their size in prison. Men who wanted to kill me.
These two? They were just bullies.
The first one swung.
I ducked. Drove my fist into his ribs. Heard him gasp.
The second grabbed me from behind.
I drove my elbow backward into his face. Felt his nose break.
He let go. Staggered back, blood pouring down his shirt.
The first one recovered and came at me again.
I sidestepped. Tripped him. He hit the gravel hard.
Tyler stood there, frozen.
I walked toward him.
He backed up.
"Your friends are weak," I said. "Just like you."
I stopped a few feet from him.
"Next time you come here," I said, "come alone. And come ready to lose. Because I'm not going back to prison. But I will put you in the ground before I let you hurt Dad again."
Tyler turned and ran.
His friends scrambled to their feet and followed.
I stood there in the yard, breathing hard.
Dad was in the doorway, watching.
"Ryan..." he said.
"I'm okay," I said. "They're gone."
May you like
But I knew.
This wasn't over.
