“This is for the fingers you used to bruise her throat,” I said calmly.
“You’re crazy!” Mark wailed. “I’ll sue you! I’ll own you!”
“Focus, Mark,” I said. “We’re not in court yet.”
He tried to stand up on his good leg, swinging a clumsy fist at my midsection.
I parried it with my forearm, spun the bat, and drove the pommel into his solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a whoosh. He crumpled like a wet paper bag.
I stood over him. The rain washed the blood from my cheek.
“You called me a relic,” I said to his gasping form. “You were right. I’m from a time when actions had consequences.”
Mark wheezed, trying to crawl toward the door. “Please… stop…”
“She begged you to stop,” I said. “Did you?”
I swung the bat again. Not a killing blow. A tactical blow. I aimed for the floating ribs on his right side.
