Текст книги "Playing with Trouble"
Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Blair
I headed home, having completed my first week volunteering with the nonprofit Will recommended in Arlington. He was right. I absolutely loved it. The kids had all lost a parent who’d served in the military, each of them at different stages of living with their grief. Our job was to do little things—take them on field trips, give them a place to go after school since most of them were now in single-parent homes. We filled in the gaps wherever we could, to honor the sacrifice their family had made.
I’d known I made the right choice minutes into my first day there. I was still planning to move, but now I knew the kind of job I wanted, and the kind of life I wanted to lead.
I walked down my street, digging my keys out of my purse, and froze.
Gray stood on the sidewalk staring at me.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks of trying to convince myself that what I’d felt for him hadn’t been real, that I could move on, that I’d meet someone else, someone who would make me happier than he had.
Three weeks of me failing miserably.
Gray stood in front of me, dressed in jeans, a navy blue sweater, and a khaki-colored raincoat. I’d spent the last few weeks trying to convince myself that he wasn’t as hot as I’d remembered, that surely the sight of him hadn’t been enough to set my body on fire.
I’d failed there, too.
He looked tired, like the time apart had been as hellish on him as it had been on me. And while I hated to see him in pain, it gave me hope that he finally understood what I’d known all along.
We belonged together.
He stopped a few feet away from me.
My eyes stung, my heart pounded. I probably should have been angry with him for leaving in the first place, upset for all he’d put me through. And I was, for like a second.
But he was here and I wanted to be happy. I’d seen firsthand the loss that my sister lived, watched her life be shattered in an instant, seen the people around me throw away happiness with both hands. It was the most underrated emotion in the world, but if life had taught me anything, it was that you only got so many chances to be happy. I wasn’t going to waste one chance.
I liked that I could be myself with him. That he didn’t try to change me or turn me into someone I wasn’t. I couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t hurt me, but I was too greedy to let that stand in my way.
You didn’t throw love away. You clutched it to your chest, fought for it, died for it, and kept it safe above all else.
He was here, and I wasn’t letting go.
Gray spoke first.
“Hi.”
I closed my eyes, letting his voice cloak me in its warmth.
They opened, and I drank in the sight of him standing in front of me once more.
“I missed you.” I probably should have led with something cool and breezy, but the confession just slipped out. Besides, with the emotions raging through me, I didn’t think I could achieve breezy if my life depended on it.
He moved closer, and closer, and then I was in his arms, and I couldn’t see anything beyond the tears filling my eyes, blurring the world around me.
He didn’t kiss me. Instead, he held me in his embrace as though he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.
“I missed you, too,” he whispered, his voice rough. “So much.”
I pulled back slightly so I could see his face, needing to read the emotions in his eyes so I could understand.
“Why are you here? Why now?”
“I woke the fuck up.” His eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry. You were right all along. I should have believed in us. In the me I am when I’m with you. I should have known that we would be better together. I was trying to do the right thing, and I was wrong. I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry I let you go. I should have fought for you. I should have realized I was throwing away the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was scared, and I thought I was doing the right thing, thought that I needed to give you a chance to find someone who was better for you than I was.”
“I wanted you.”
He swallowed. “I know. I should have listened to you. I did what I thought was best for you without listening to you when you told me what you wanted. I was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “What now?”
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Well, I heard you were looking for a fresh start. That you might be interested in leaving D.C.”
Surprise filled me. “Where did you hear that?”
“Your sisters.”
“Kate and Jackie talked to you?”
He nodded. “Kate apologized for Capital Confessions. And I think she and Jackie wanted to see for themselves that I was good enough for you.”
That sounded like Kate.
“And?”
“And they both told me that I was an idiot if I let you go, so I figured they approved. And they were right.” He released me and ran a hand down his jaw, his expression nervous.
“I’m thinking of moving to Boston,” he announced. “I need a fresh start. For the second time,” he added. “The press here is a bit more than I’d like if I’m going to go into private practice again.”
I froze. “You’re going back to private practice?”
He nodded. “I have a friend from law school who runs his own firm. He’s looking to take on a partner. Illinois and Massachusetts have reciprocity, so it’s not like I’ll have to retake the bar or anything.”
Boston wasn’t that far. I mean long distance would be a pain, but we could make it work. I understood his reasons for wanting to leave town better than anyone.
“I want you to come with me.”
What?
“To Boston?”
He nodded. “If Boston doesn’t work for you, we can find something else. Kate and Jackie mentioned that you’re looking for a job. There are a ton of nonprofits in the city, but if you want to go somewhere else, I’ll go with you. I just want to be with you. It doesn’t matter where.”
I was so ready for a change. I needed one. And I saw the life he offered me—could imagine coming home from work and cooking dinner for us, cuddling on the couch, falling asleep in his arms. This was my happy.
“If you don’t want to leave, we won’t,” he added. “But if you’re looking to start over, to get free of all of this political shit, I’ll be there with you. I love you.” His voice cracked. “You’re my home.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
“I love you, too.” I answered, my mind made up from the first moment I saw him standing in front of me. “Yes. I’ll go to Boston with you.”
“You’re sure?”
More tears fell. “Yes, I’m sure.”
I shook my head, emotion pouring through me with each word that left his lips.
“I want you. Only you. We work in a way that I’ve never worked with anyone else. Just love me.”
“I’ll spend every single day of our lives loving you,” he vowed.
Gray pulled me into his arms, his mouth finding mine, and gave me everything, his kiss, his heart, my future.
I kissed him on the sidewalk, on a busy street, in the middle of D.C., in the light, not caring who saw us or what they thought.
It was the best kiss we’d ever had.
Epilogue
This blogger has just received some documents that will make several members of a certain intelligence committee cringe. Ready for the latest scandal to rock D.C.? You’ll hear about it here first . . .
—Capital Confessions blog
Blair
Six Months Later
“Hi honey, I’m home,” I called out, shutting the front door behind me.
The sound of nails clattering across the hardwood floors hit me first, followed by the sight of a ball of fur hurtling toward me. I bent down and scooped the puppy up, letting her shower me with kisses.
Our town house in Boston had a small courtyard, and I’d always wanted a puppy, so a trip to the shelter had been a priority once we’d settled in. Her name was Gabby, and she’d been abandoned in a box behind a restaurant with four of her siblings. She was a Lab mix with a penchant for chewing on my heels, and her favorite activity was playing fetch with Gray in the park. We both adored her.
I set Gabby down, placing my keys and papers on the table near the entryway. I kicked off my shoes, shrugging out of my jacket, and went in search of Gray. I froze as soon as I hit the dining room.
The lights were off, candles lit on the table, soft music playing through the speakers. I grinned as I recognized the opening strains of “All I Ask of You” from Phantom of the Opera. It was half private joke, half our song, and totally us.
Gray stood next to the table, his tie and jacket off, the top button of his shirt undone, two glasses in hand, his feet bare. I didn’t drink in the house since I didn’t want to give him the added temptation, and by the look of things, he’d bought some kind of sparkling nonalcoholic drink. Seriously loved him.
“Happy anniversary.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He grinned, walking over to me and pressing a soft kiss against my cheek.
“It’s been a year since we met. Since the first day of classes when I saw you.”
Ohmigod.
So it had.
I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to how sweet he was. I’d seen pieces of it when I was falling in love with him, but it only grew the longer we were together. It was as though our relationship gave him the confidence to let his guard down and finally let me in.
It was better than I’d imagined.
We’d moved to Boston in March. Five months later, I still loved it. I’d been back to D.C. a few times to visit my family and friends, but it felt good to spend time with them and then return home with a buffer between us. I loved them, but Boston had become a sanctuary of sorts for me, and I couldn’t deny that I loved that, too.
“Happy anniversary,” I whispered, leaning in again for another kiss.
Gray nodded toward the table. “I ordered takeout. I figured it was safer than me trying to cook.”
I grinned. “I concur.”
This was my favorite tradition we’d started since we moved to Boston—eating dinner together and talking about our days. We didn’t manage it every day; there were still the odd times that one or both of us had to work late, but we made a point to be home to spend time together.
“So how was your day?” he asked after we’d sat down, digging into the salad I recognized from one of my favorite restaurants in the North End.
“Good. Busy. I’m working on a new proposal for more funding. We’re hoping to expand the center soon.”
I’d gotten a job working in children and family services for a small nonprofit. It was the perfect fit for me and I loved getting to work with the kids. Surprisingly, I’d even been able to put some of the things I’d learned in law school to use. Gray volunteered sometimes—hanging out with the kids or offering pro bono legal services.
“That’s awesome.”
I grinned. “Thanks.”
“By the way, your sister called.”
“Which one?”
“Jackie. She mentioned something about needing to get fitted for your dress for the wedding.”
“You up for a trip back to D.C.?” I asked. “We could go for the weekend. Maybe I can meet up with Kate for coffee or something. She sounded weird last time I talked to her.”
Things with my sister still weren’t back to normal, but planning Jackie’s wedding had smoothed some of the awkwardness between us. There was definitely something going on with her, but at least she’d quit blogging at Capital Confessions once she’d graduated college and started working for the CIA.
“Sure.”
“So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I asked, threading my fingers through his free hand.
“Deposition in the morning. Then I have a few prospective client meetings in the afternoon. Then a meeting after work.”
He made a point of going to Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at least weekly. We’d both been nervous about how he’d adjust with going back to private practice, but so far he seemed to be managing it well. Having his own firm helped. He shared office space with a partner, but they kept their practices separate and made their own schedules.
I knew there would still be times that he struggled, knew we both had parts of ourselves that we were still working on, but we loved each other, and supported each other, and somehow we made each other better.
I squeezed his hand. “I love you.”
Gray smiled at me, his gaze intent, the voice that had teased me, seduced me, warmed me, hoarse with emotion. “I love you, too.”
We came from such different worlds, had taken such different paths to get here, and yet we’d both been searching for the same things.
A family. A home. Peace.
And even though it didn’t look like I’d imagined it would, even though it wasn’t what my family had wanted for me, my future was here with Gray. I’d finally found exactly where I belonged—
And it was just perfect.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my amazing agent, Kevan Lyon, and my editor extraordinaire, Kate Seaver. It’s such a privilege to work with both of you. Thanks to the entire team at Penguin for their support for the Capital Confessions series. I couldn’t have asked for a better home for these books.
Thank you so much to all of the bloggers and readers who have supported my career. Your enthusiasm for my writing means the world to me.
I’m so grateful for my wonderful family and friends. HUGE thanks to my husband who has fully embraced life with a writer on deadline. I couldn’t do any of this without your love and support.
And last but certainly not least, thank you to the University of South Carolina Law School Class of 2013. You guys made my law school experience so memorable, especially Michelle, for being there when I needed it most. This one’s for you.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next seductive
Capital Confessions novel …
Coming soon from Headline Eternal.
D.C.’s political elite is expected to attend this year’s concert at the U.S. Capitol to celebrate the Fourth of July. We can’t wait to see what scandals we uncover . . .
–Capital Confessions blog
Kate
“Why are you still here?”
I looked up from the project I’d been working on—analyzing newspaper articles from Syria to assist with a leadership profile my boss wanted on a Syrian general—my elbow nearly connecting with one of several cups of coffee strewn about my desk. Sometimes intelligence work could be really fucking tedious. When it was completed, the profile would serve as a reference document providing background information on the general. The goal was to use this information to not only get a better sketch of him, but also as a predictive and descriptive tool to understand his motivations and attempt to guess at what he might do next. The particular article had some useful information to put in the personal data section.
My boss, Richard Standler, stood in front of me, staring down at my cluttered desk.
“Just trying to finish up this report,” I answered, hoping I looked like the dutiful employee.
I’d only been working at the Central Intelligence Agency for a couple of weeks. I’d graduated from Georgetown in May with a political science degree, and gotten an entry-level job working as a political analyst in the CIA’s Directorate of Intelligence. My job involved country risk analysis—looking at raw data, both classified and open source—things like media, internet sites, public data, and professional and academic publications—to make assessments on how U.S. interests would be affected by a particular country’s goals and behavior. In my case, I was assigned to the Office of Near Eastern and South Asian Analysis. I’d taken Arabic in college and was pretty much fluent, so that definitely helped.
It wasn’t the glamorous, car chase “spy” job everyone envisioned when they thought of working at the CIA—my greatest health hazard was probably getting carpal tunnel—but for someone who geeked out on international relations and security policy, it was pretty much my dream job.
“You do realize it’s a holiday, right? You didn’t actually need to come in today.”
Ugh. It was. It was also my twenty-second birthday.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m about to head out. I just wanted to get this finished.”
It was important to me that I made a good impression. I wasn’t great at office politics, but I was a hard worker and I hoped that would take me far.
“Do you have plans to go see some fireworks later?”
“No, I’m just going to head home after this.”
He shifted from side to side as though he was looking for something else to say, but finally he just nodded and gave me an uncomfortable smile.
“Well, don’t work too late.”
I forced a smile. “I won’t.”
I listened to his footsteps walking away, and then I went back to the report, grateful for the silence. Maybe it made me a freak, but I sort of liked working when the office was nearly empty. It saved me from awkward, stilted conversations with my co-workers. I was here to do a job, not to make friends. I was here to learn everything I could about what happened that day in Afghanistan when my fiancé, Matt, had never come home from his Special Forces mission.
We’d dated throughout high school, gotten engaged my freshman year of college after Matt had decided to give up his future at Intech, his father’s private security firm, and instead enlisted in Army. I’d only been eighteen, and my parents had definitely not approved, but I hadn’t worried or questioned my decision for a second. We’d had the kind of relationship that had been solid, and my future had always seemed like it was meant to include him.
Until I woke to a phone call telling me that his unit had been ambushed, and he’d been killed in Afghanistan.
There hadn’t been a body to bury; details had been scarce. Much of it was swept under the “classified” rug, leaving me with a whole lot of questions and a wound that seemed impossible to recover from.
I wasn’t stupid; I knew the odds of me finding out any information on Matt’s death were slim to none. I was at the absolute bottom rung of the CIA food chain, and my access to information was limited at best. Not to mention, I couldn’t exactly advertise what I was looking for. No, I had to hope I got lucky, or that I performed really well and they started increasing my access level.
It wasn’t just the need to know what had happened to him, it was the suspicion that there was more to the story, the mounting evidence that my father, the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, was somehow linked to what had gone down in Afghanistan nearly four years ago. It was a mission I’d picked up a year ago, a vendetta I wasn’t willing to let die. Even if it meant I was dead girl walking.
If I was going to go out, then I was going to go out in a fucking blaze of glory—
And take everyone down with me.
* * *
I left Langley and drove home, searching for a parking spot in my neighborhood. The city was even busier with the crowds celebrating the Fourth, and I had to park several blocks away from my apartment building.
I walked down the sidewalk, pushing through the crowded streets. It was dusk and the fireworks had yet to start, but the sidewalks teemed with people enjoying the warm D.C. summer. I lengthened my strides, hating the crowds, ready to collapse on my couch, watch TV, and finish off the Lebanese food I’d bought last night.
Suddenly, a chill slid down my spine. Again. The same chill that had been happening with alarming regularity.
I froze. My head whipped around as my gaze swept my surroundings.
Groups of people walked down the street behind me, laughing and chatting as though they didn’t have a care in the world. How long had it been since I’d been like that? Since I’d been normal?
A body collided with mine.
“Hey, watch where you’re going.”
I mumbled an apology to the man, ducking my head and picking up the pace, my street nearly in sight.
It was stupid, and I’d probably become paranoid, but I swore it felt like someone was following me. I’d had the feeling for weeks now. I couldn’t pinpoint why, had never seen anyone or anything like that, it was just a feeling. One that had me looking over my shoulder, wondering when I’d pay for the shots I’d taken against my father’s reputation.
All it’s going to do is get you killed.
My sister Blair’s words when she’d learned that I’d been selling information about our father, Senator Edward Reynolds, to Capital Confessions hit me again. Okay, yeah, maybe I knew why I felt the way I did. Why I had trouble sleeping. Why I kept a safety deposit box full of information in case of my death.
I wasn’t sure when my life had become a Greek tragedy, but I didn’t doubt my father would kill me if I got too close to the truth of what had happened to Matt in Afghanistan—if it were true and my father had really been involved.
I couldn’t resist the urge to peer over my shoulder again, not sure if I was relieved or annoyed to come up empty. After weeks of this, I was ready to face whoever was after me. Maybe I was crazy. I at least consoled myself with the thought that even my father wasn’t likely to have me killed on my own birthday.
Probably.
Although, if he were going to do it in a way that minimized the scandal to the family and presented him with the perfect political opportunity, having me mugged on my way home would be the optimal cover.
I still lived in the same tiny one-bedroom apartment I’d lived in during college. It wasn’t in the best part of D.C., but it was cheap, and since I’d cut off ties with my parents after Matt’s death, I’d paid for my own college education and living expenses. I had some money in trust from my grandparents, but four years at Georgetown had been expensive, as had my apartment, shitty though it may be. The CIA paid okay, but it wasn’t anything crazy, so I tried to live pretty frugally.
It was a testament to twenty-two years of being a Reynolds that I could easily envision the speeches and the piece of legislation my father would sponsor decrying the high crime level on the streets. Yeah, if I were going to have me killed, I’d go with a mugging.
Fuck.
My heart raced as I walked up to my building, unlocking the front door and slipping inside, the door shutting behind me immediately.
I released a breath, my body sagging. I steadied myself for a moment and then I made the trek up six flights of stairs until I reached the front door of my apartment, unlocking it and heading inside.
I got comfortable, changing into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. My apartment didn’t have the luxury of central air—nothing like the seven thousand square foot home I grew up in—and it was boiling today. I threw on an episode of an old nineties sitcom and feasted on the last of my chicken shawarma from last night’s dinner. As far as birthdays went, I’d had worse.
I read through texts from my sisters, Blair and Jackie, responding with promises to call later. Jackie and her fiancé, Will, had plans to attend the big concert at the Capitol this year. Will was newly elected to a state senate seat in Virginia so it helped for them to be rubbing elbows with D.C.’s movers and shakers. They’d invited me to join them, but I’d spent more of my childhood than I cared to remember being dragged to things like that, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat.
Blair had moved to Boston with her boyfriend, Gray, and had decided to spend the holiday up there, working an event her nonprofit had put on for the families they served. Even if she had been here, I wasn’t sure we would have spent the day together. Things had been tense between us ever since she found out I had been working with Capital Confessions last year—and was responsible for the blog outing her relationship with her then-law professor. We’d mended fences for the most part, but our relationship remained strained.
I missed my sister. Our personalities couldn’t have been more different—Blair was poised and polite and I was more of a bull in a china shop—but we’d still been pretty close. Growing up the way we had, we’d banded together out of both love and necessity. Besides, living our lives in the public eye had made it difficult to let a lot of people in. Trust was the ultimate commodity, and you learned pretty quickly that this town ran on power and everyone wanted to get close to the people who held it. As the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, my father was the ultimate power broker. He was also an asshole.
It wasn’t just the affairs, or the way he’d treated my sister Jackie, the illegitimate daughter he’d fathered and abandoned, or how we butted heads at every turn. He wasn’t just an asshole; he was the kind of guy who would take anyone down if their interests threatened his—including me. And he was definitely involved in some dark shit.
I grabbed the old, worn file folder sitting on my coffee table, flipping through the pages I practically knew from memory. A year ago, the first packet had arrived in the mail addressed to me with a pre-printed label and an Arlington postmark. Every few months or so, more came. Each packet came from a different city in the metro area. Each packet had a little more information about the security firm, Intech’s, operations in Afghanistan.
The first packet had contained two important pieces of information—
My father’s name and Matt’s father’s name. And then came the documents with Matt’s name, surrounded by a whole lot of blacked out bits.
Matt’s father, James Ryan, owned Intech, one of the world’s largest private security firms. He was also one of my father’s largest campaign contributors.
I didn’t even know what I had exactly—a lot of it was redacted—but the fact that someone was sending me this was enough to make me think there was more there. The conversation I’d accidentally overheard days after Matt’s funeral filled in the other missing piece, shattering any ties I had to my parents.
Blair had accused me of being obsessed with what happened to Matt, and she was probably right. She’d told me I needed to move on, needed to find a life for myself. I just didn’t know how. We’d been a couple ever since my sixteenth birthday; before that we’d grown up together as best friends. I hadn’t just lost my fiancé; Matt’s death created a hole in my life that I couldn’t fill. And more than that, it created a hole inside of me.
You didn’t bounce back from that.
* * *
I jerked up in bed, a loud crash coming from the direction of my living room.
My heart pounded, my gaze darting to the nightstand and the alarm clock next to my bed. Instead of the neon numbers I expected to see staring back at me, the screen was dark. I fumbled with the lamp, reaching for the switch. I flicked it on. Nothing happened.
Fuck.
A chill slid down my spine, my limbs filling with ice. Maybe there’d been a storm. Maybe it was just a normal power outage. Maybe someone had come to kill me.
Another crash—the sound of breaking glass—the noise once again in the direction of the living room.
It wasn’t a dream; someone was definitely in my apartment.
Fuck.
I reached for my cell, only to come up empty.
Fuck.
I’d left it in my purse, which was not-so-conveniently sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
I got out of bed, heading to the closet. I fumbled around in the dark for a moment, until finally my hand connected with the wooden handle of a baseball bat. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. If I were lucky, maybe I could catch the intruder off-guard. I definitely wasn’t going to stay here like a sitting duck, waiting to be killed. If I could get a good swing in, then maybe I could make it to the front door. I had a few neighbors—surely someone would hear me. Hopefully, they weren’t all gone for the holiday. Not to mention, since this wasn’t the best area, fights weren’t exactly something new. The hope that someone would overhear and call the cops was probably in vain.
My hands tightened around the bat, sliding over to the bedroom door, cursing the old construction and the fact that none of the interior doors had locks on them.
Adrenaline slammed through me, my body tense and poised for fight as I waited, my gaze locked on the handle of the door, waiting to see it turn.
Dreading it.
A shout came from the other side of the door.
My breath caught.
Another shout.
Oh god, there’s more than one of them.
A loud thud, followed by a series of grunts, filled the night air. Then another thud—like the sound of bone connecting with bone. More grunts. A shout. Popping sounds.
Someone was fighting in my living room. The realization surprised me enough to have the bat slipping from my fingers. I’d gone to bed late; it had to be the middle of the night. Judging from when I’d gone to bed and the sliver of moonlight in the inky sky shining through my sixth-floor window, it was two or three a.m. And there were strange men fighting in my apartment.
All it’s going to do is get you killed.
Maybe I should have listened to Blair. Maybe I should have just let everything with Matt go. He was dead; why did I need to go dredging up old ghosts? What would it accomplish, really? And after a year of trying to research it, all I had to show for my efforts were a few cryptic pieces of paper, men fighting in my living room, and an imminent death.
But why were they fighting? If my father—or someone connected to him—had sent someone to kill me, why hadn’t they done it already? Why were they fighting each other? Assassins’ quarrel?
I picked up the baseball bat, my knuckles white. Silence filled the apartment.
I stayed in the corner, directly behind the bedroom door, my gaze trained on the doorknob, struggling to control my breathing, trying so hard not to make a sound. My limbs felt frozen, pulled down by fifty-pound weights. I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly, afraid to do anything except grip the baseball bat as though it were an extension of my body.
Minutes passed.
No one came to kill me.
Were they gone?
Indecision filled me as I struggled with what to do next. Part of me wanted to go into the living room and try to grab my phone so I could call the police. It was so quiet—maybe they really were gone. At the same time, it seemed crazy to run toward danger. And part of me couldn’t have moved if I wanted to—my body plastered against the wall, my legs frozen with fear.
And then the doorknob made the decision for me.
Horror filled me as I watched the knob turn, heard the creak of the hinges as it opened, and then I swung with all of my might, the bat connecting with muscle and bone with a sickening thwack.
The intruder crumpled to the ground with an oath and I leapt over the body, the bat dangling from my hand, running toward the living room, panic clawing at my throat. I grabbed my bag off of the coffee table, running toward the front door, my heart pounding as I prayed that I’d hit him hard enough to keep him down for a while.
