Prologue
“Kendall, please slow down. I rather not die tonight.” My mother begs from the passenger seat, as she hangs on for dear life.
I’m to enraged to listen to her and care about our safety. The only thing on my mind is to get to my daughter and make sure she’s safe.
My ex-wife’s neighbor, a buddy of mine, called me tonight to let me know Darla was having a large party. Normally this isn’t big news, but what he saw when he showed up disgusted him. Half-naked people making out, beer cans littering the floor and drugs of all kinds scattered across the kitchen counter. Those things didn’t bother him, but seeing my baby girl walking around in her underwear around all this did. She’s just four years old. She should be watching some stupid animal talking cartoon, not see adults at their worse while they did things that would require her to go to therapy.
Not giving a shit about where I park, I drive into the yard, and I’m out of my truck as soon as I slam it in park. Not waiting for my mother, I run up the steps to the house and kick the door. The force of the kick is so hard it falls off its hinges.
“Where is she? Where’s my daughter?” I shout to the drunken crowd. Everyone pauses for just a second to look at me, but they go back to their drinking, and unsavory behavior like an enraged man hasn’t kicked the door open.
“Kendall, a simple knock would have been sufficient.” My mother calmly says behind my back. Her superpower has always been able to keep her cool in the most dramatic circumstances. She has been my reasoning and logical thinker when I’ve lost my cool. However, her mellowness is currently pissing me off. My daughter, her granddaughter, is in this house of deviant people. Emma in danger of losing her childhood innocence in the midst of this mess and I can’t let that happen.
Ignoring my mom and noticing no one is going to answer my question, I grab the first drunk that walks by me. Pulling his face close to mine, “Where’s my daughter?” His only response is to look up at me with drunken confusion.
With disgust, I shove him away from me and start walking through the house, my mother trailing behind. Not finding Emma out in the open, I stride to her bedroom in hopes that she’s in there safe and sound. Instead, I find two people having sex. My level of anger raises a couple of notches as I watch a woman get fucked doggy style on my daughter’s princess comforter. Walking across the room, I shove them both from Emma’s bed onto the floor.
“Get the hell out of my daughter’s room, mother fuckers!” I scream at them while they look up at me open-mouthed. The rage on my face and in my voice scares them enough into action. If I weren’t so furious, I would have found them funny as they tripped over each other.
“Kendall…” My mom starts to say.
“Save it, mom. I don’t need a lesson in manners right fucking now.” I growl, knowing full well that I’ll be lectured later for my actions, but I don’t care.
When I step back in the hallway, I hear Darla scream and then I hear a thud. Racing across the hall to the room where the sounds came from, I hear Emma yell, “Don’t hurt my mommy.”
Just as I open the door, I see a man wearing only jeans draw back his hand and backhand Emma across the face; sending her to the floor.
Rage that I’ve never felt consumed me. Without thinking, I charged the piece of shit like I was a linebacker. I slam into the man with such force, we crash through a window and land outside.
After landing in the grass, we break apart and roll. I quickly stand to my feet as he stumbles and cusses. “It’s one thing to hit my piece of shit ex-wife, but you crossed the line when you hit my little girl, asshole,” I growl out right before I start raining my fist into his face.
When my fist slams into his face, I know it isn’t a fair fight. I’m 6’6, 325 pounds of muscle and he’s maybe 5’7 and 150 pounds, but I don’t care. He hit my daughter. No one is going to hurt her and get away with it.
I lose track of time as I pound my fury out onto his body. The impact of my skin on his feels me with relief like I’ve never felt. I’ve been holding on to my rage for a long period of time.
I beat on him for hitting my little girl. I beat on him because he’s with my ex-wife. I beat on him for the environment that my wife put our daughter in and the law that said I couldn’t do a damn thing until I gave plausible proof she’s in danger. Here-say was not enough in the eyes of the court.
I punch, and I swing my fist until I can’t swing anymore. It’s only then that I notice the flashing lights and armed men surrounding me. They’re yelling at me to back away and get on the ground.
Suddenly, my arms feel like lead weight as I stumble back from the man I was beating on. Looking down at my hands, I see blood; lots and lots of blood. It covers me like a second skin, but it’s not mine. The lifeless meat sack on the ground never got a swing in as I pummeled him.
Falling to my knees, I continue to look at the still warm blood staining my skin. What the hell did I just do? I ask myself while staring at my hands in disbelief.
Then it hits me.
I’ve just done something that will cost me my baby girl.
Voices are shouting all around me as I look around in a haze. My only thought is to see my daughter; to make sure she’s safe and sound. As I scan the now crowded yard, I find my mother in my truck shielding Emma from the bloody chaos that I’ve caused. Even from this distance, I can see the fear and disbelief on my mother’s face.
I fucked up. I finally let my anger get the best of me. I let the blind rage that eats at my soul get the best of me.
I may have killed a man with my bare hands in front of my daughter.
I look at my hands again.
What did I do?
A lone tear escapes, but before it slides onto my cheek, I’m tackled to the ground. Voices are screaming at me to not move while my arms are twisted behind my back and handcuffs tear into my wrist.
I’m done. My anger is gone. Not from beating on a total stranger, but because I realize that my actions just cost me my baby girl. My last image of my daughter is of her looking at me with terror in her eyes.
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Taylor Johns, author 