A shout sounds from town. Then a roar, like a wild beast. Someone screams. And we run.
THIRTY-NINE
We leave Sebastian, but he follows right behind us at a run. He catches up and says, “That sounds like Mindy.”
I glance over.
“Mindy,” he says. “One of the, uh … I mean, she works in the kitchens.”
“I know who she is,” I say.
“She’s just wondering how you know what her screaming sounds like,” Dalton says.
Sebastian’s face goes bright red. “Not that. I—”
Dalton waves him to silence. The screaming has stopped, and now there’s just a general commotion in town. Running footsteps. Calls of “What’s going on?” And a man’s voice, his words indistinct as he shouts. That voice, though, is enough.
“It’s Roy,” I say as we run.
Dalton lets out a string of curses. We can see buildings ahead and the blur of people running.
“Go around,” Dalton says. “He’s near Will’s place.”
He keeps running straight. I slow. Sebastian slows with me, and I’m tempted to tell him to go, but there’s no time. I take the path circling town.
“Stay back!” Roy shouts. His words are garbled. They aren’t slurred, as if he’s been drinking, but more like he’s talking with something in his mouth.
“Stay the hell back!” he shouts. “Anyone—” I don’t catch the next few words. “—break this bitch’s neck—” More garble. “—thinks she can disrespect me? Turn down my good money?”
“That would be her right.”
Isabel’s voice rings out. “It is the right of every man and woman in this town to turn down any invitation to sex. That includes those who choose to profit from such interactions. You have just earned yourself a lifetime ban from the Roc. If you do not release Mindy in the next three seconds, that ban will extend to the Lion and to all alcohol…”
Isabel trails off. As I jog, I see her through the trees. She’s been walking toward the house beside Will’s, the sparse crowd parting for her. Now she’s slowed and gone quiet, staring at something I can’t see.
I pick up speed, and then I spot Roy on the front porch. He has Mindy strong-armed over the railing, bent forward, and when I see that, I wish to hell I had my gun. But that sexually threatening pose isn’t what stopped Isabel. It’s Roy himself. He’s naked. Completely naked, his potbelly jiggling as he bellows at Isabel. He’s put something in his hair, and it stands up at all angles. He’s shaved swaths from his beard, and blood drips from the mowed patches.
Roy has Mindy bent over the railing, and as much as that position enrages me, he isn’t attempting to do what it looks like. Mindy is fully dressed, and he’s standing at her side, his hand forcing her neck against the railing. That’s still enough for me to run faster. And it’s enough for Isabel to resume striding toward them. It is also enough to have Dalton coming at a run, yelling, “Get your fucking hands off her!”
“Holy shit,” Sebastian whispers behind me.
I keep advancing through the forest. When I’m alongside the building, I motion for Sebastian to stay where he is. While I can no longer see what’s happening, I can hear it. Dalton is snarling at Roy. Anders has come from somewhere, and he’s calmly but firmly ordering Roy to release Mindy, with Isabel echoing it. Roy keeps shouting, his words making no sense.
Once I’m at the rear porch, I hop onto the railing and then I climb to the bedroom balcony. The setup is the same as at our house, and I’ve used this route before to startle Dalton. I balance on the balcony railing, climb onto the roof, crouch, and cross partway. Then I’m on my belly, slinking forward.
When I near the edge, I see them below. Dalton is climbing onto the porch. He’s right there, and Roy doesn’t even seem to care. Roy’s shouting something while holding Mindy down with one hand, his other dropped down in front—and I’m pretty sure I know what he’s doing with it.
“Let her go or—” Dalton begins.
Mindy kicks. Roy has changed position, partly behind her, and when she kicks, the foot goes straight between his legs. He lets out a screech, but he doesn’t fall back, doesn’t let go, doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. She kicks again, harder, and then wrenches from his grip and falls on him, kicking and pummeling. Dalton grabs Roy by the hair and yanks him aside. Roy attacks Dalton, and I drop onto the porch.
My assistance is not required. Roy is swinging his arms, flailing like a child as he smacks at Dalton, who simply grabs him by the arm and throws him down. Roy keeps fighting, and Dalton motions to me to take his arm. We switch places, and I twist Roy’s arm behind his back as Anders pins his kicking legs and Dalton crouches in front of Roy, telling him to stop fighting, that he’s only making it worse.
Roy doesn’t care. He’s practically vibrating beneath me, and it reminds me of a time when I’d thrown down a suspect who was high as a kite. Some “under the influence” suspects make no effort to fight, just rant and yell. Others fight with preternatural strength. But this suspect had just flailed under me, a ball of adrenaline that he didn’t know how to use. Roy is securely pinned, but he keeps flopping like a fish on the bank. When he ignores Dalton’s orders to stop, I twist his arm. He doesn’t care. I push it up until sweat beads on his broad face, and he pants in pain, but the sensation doesn’t seem to register beyond that. I have to raise my voice to be heard over the sounds Roy makes—snarls and howls and grunts, as if we’re pinning a wild animal.
“He’s not responding,” I say to Dalton. “We’re going to need—”
“Excuse me,” a voice says, cutting through the clamor. “Excuse me.”