Read The Preacher's Son #2: Unleashed for Free Online Page B

step forward. "Just put the knife away. We'll get you help. You're sick. You don't need to threaten us."
    It happened like a nightmare lightning strike. The dirty young man lashed out with his knife, jabbing forward with the blade up. Tre knocked the blade aside, taking a long, deep cut along the outside of his forearm. He latched onto the knife-arm with his unwounded hand, clamping down with all his strength, twisting the arm upside down and putting his weight onto the stressed joint. The addict screamed, shrill and panicked. 
    Tre glared into the young man's eyes, and I saw the anger, the pent-up rage burning there, fueled by adrenaline. Tre's fist lifted up, cocked back, lashed out and connected with the other man's jaw. Teeth crumbled and fell loose, accompanied by blood and drool. The knife clattered to the ground, and Tre kicked it away, stepping back from the addict, who was clutching his mouth and moaning.
    Tre pulled me away, turning his back on our attacker. I was opening my mouth to warn him when I caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of my eye. I shoved Tre, feeling a cold bite of pain along my shoulder. Tre bounced off the wall, grappled with the addict, who was strengthened now by pain and desperation. Tre was pressed back against the alley wall, the knife closing in on his face, holding it away with one hand, the other bleeding and scrabbling at his opponent's face. 
    The tableau froze like that for a second that stretched into eternity, and then snapped in a rush. Tre's fingers clamped onto the addict's throat, squeezing his windpipe, crushing it with inexorable fingers. A twist of his body, and Tre was shoving the attacker away, bashing out with a fist like a jackhammer, pounding, pounding, pounding. He was holding the bloody young man's frame up with one hand and bashing with the other, smashing mercilessly. 
    I found my senses, called Tre's name and touched his shoulder. "It's over, Tre! Let go! Stop!" I pulled him away, pushed him back from the limp form. "Come on, Tre, it's fine. He's down, you won."
    Tre shook his head as if to clear it of a fog. He started, looking at the unconscious body at his feet. 
    "Is he...did I...?"
    I knelt down by the body, listening. There was a gasping, gurgling breath, a low, weak moan. 
    "No, he's alive," I said. 
    I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. The next several hours passed in stretching-toffee blur. We answered questions, got attended by paramedics, who put a bandage on the shallow cut on my shoulder, announcing that Tre needed stitches. The police filed their reports, telling us not to leave Jackson, but that it was unlikely Tre would be charged with anything, as the young man who'd attacked us was wanted in connection with several other muggings. He'd stabbed several people, actually, killing one and wounding the rest.
    We went to the hospital, where we sat waiting in silence for an interminable number of hours, time without passage, just a ticking clock, a hard plastic hospital seat and the mobile bed. Eventually the hospital people came, nurses and anesthetists and the doctor, and his arm was stitched up, twenty sutures along his forearm. 
    It was nearly dawn by the time we got back to our hotel room, and we collapsed into bed, exhausted. I woke with mid-afternoon sun shining on me, snugged against Tre's chest. I let myself wake up slowly, savoring the peace, the muzzy warmth and Tre's skin against my face. After a while I slipped out of bed and took a long shower. When I emerged wrapped in a towel, steam billowing around me, Tre was awake.
    "How are you feeling?" I asked.
    "Like I could use a shower," he said. "But fine, otherwise."
    "All yours, then," I said.
    He didn't move, though. His eyes were on me, watching me, so I dropped the towel and did my hair with the bathroom door open, naked. I left my face make-up free, since I anticipated it getting smudged in the near future. After I finished brushing my teeth, he got in the shower, and I