“I said,” I looked up, meeting his eyes, “you’re a limp, pathetic excuse for a male.”
Mark roared. “I’ll kill you!”
He swung. It was a wild, drunken haymaker aimed at my head.
I didn’t block it. I moved my head just an inch to the right. His fist grazed my cheekbone, splitting the skin. Blood trickled down my face.
Perfect.
“Get off my porch!” Mark screamed, winding up for another hit.
I stepped back. I touched the blood on my cheek. I looked at the security camera mounted above the door—the red light blinking steadily.
“You attacked me,” I said, my voice changing. The tremble was gone. The steel was back. “I am in fear for my life.”
Mark paused, confused by the sudden shift in my tone. “What?”
“I said,” I reached into my coat and gripped the handle of the bat, “Self-defense authorized.”
