Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

father had obviously taught her a thing or two about fighting. She was on him before I could move. The tip of her sneaker struck him, and the blow clearly jolted Tommy. She went to throw another kick but the jolt hadn’t lasted. Tommy recovered his senses fast and grabbed at her foot and sprang up into a seated position. She fell into him and he pulled her down on top himself. He grabbed her close to him and rolled fast, toppling her and landing on top of her.
    Though trapped below his weight Tina wasn’t done. She reached up and scratched at his face. She wriggled, trying to get out from under him, screaming at him. I raced toward them and was on him before he could do anything much in the way of retaliation.
    I grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him off Tina. I yanked him with everything I had and spun around and flung him to the ground. He landed on his back. The instant he was down I mounted him.
    Tommy and I were face to face. His breath smelled of alcohol. He struggled against me and I could feel his tremendous strength, I could feel my control over him weakening. He was wild with rage, twisting and squirming below me like a mad dog. I knew I couldn’t hold him for long. He was just too strong. It was only a matter of time before he broke free of me, and once he did I’d have a nasty fight on my hands. And there just wasn’t time for that now. I couldn’t get into a wrestling match. I needed to get Tina and get out of here.
    I gave up trying to restrain Tommy and slammed the side of my head into his face. He grunted once. But this did nothing to sap his strength. He was on the verge of bucking me. He arched his back, lifting his hips high off the ground, and me with them. My balance was shot. I was too high in the saddle now. He rolled to his left and I fell to the ground. I was on my back now and he was above me.
    My legs, though, were around his waist, my knees against his chest. I felt his weight press upon me for a moment and then give. Instead of trying to pin me, Tommy did what a football player would do, he went to stand up.
    He was smiling. The reversal had given him confidence. There was hate in his smile. I let him plant his feet solidly on the ground, then reached down and hooked his ankles with my hands and pulled them toward me as I pushed forward with my knees. I moved explosively. Tommy went crashing down to his back again.
    I sat up fast. Tommy’s feet were right there for me. I leaned back so he couldn’t kick my face and slapped an ankle lock on his right foot. He was clueless to what I was after. He lifted his head and looked down at me but the lock was on. He wasn’t going anywhere now. I trapped his right leg between mine. Our eyes meet. The smile was gone and there was a puzzled, almost concerned look on his face now.
    I could have kicked him in his groin, done something to stun him, then grabbed Tina and run out of there. I could have done a lot of things. But I chose to do something else instead. The Chief had gone this far to protect his son. Was there any reason to believe that he wouldn’t continue to protect him? I was probably jail-bound as it was. I knew this. The only thing I could think of was that the last thing I wanted was Tommy Miller running free while I was locked away in his daddy’s jail.
    I would never get another chance like this again. I had it now and had to take it. It was the only order I could find in this chaos swirling around us.
    “What the fuck?” Tommy said.
    I looked him in the eye once more, then leaned back suddenly, almost laying myself flat on the ground. I moved like a shot, the lock secure around Tommy’s ankle. He cried out as I turned the hold ninety degrees and the ligaments in his ankle joint tore from the bone. Without hesitating, I turned at the waist with a jerk—one sudden, violent thrust. I heard from Tommy’s knee a dull snap. It was a sickening sound. I let go of Tommy and got up fast. He was screaming now, a terrible, high-pitched squeal. It was time to go.
    I rushed over to Tina and took her by the shoulders. My touch startled her. Her head lifted quickly, her arms flying up to cover her torn T-shirt. I helped her up. Her body was shaking wildly.
    “It’s okay,” I told her. “You’re okay now.”
    “Who are you?” she demanded. There was a degree of pleading in her voice. She was scared and confused, on the verge of tears.
    “It’s okay. I’m a friend of your father’s. You’re okay. C’mon, we’ve