"God, that's disgusting! Bet he did it on purpose so people would splash him! Creep!"
The chatter around us only deepened the satisfaction in Judy's eyes.
A wave of revulsion crawled through me.
Eight years. I'd turned down every arranged marriage my family offered—every single one—to stay with Judy. When the Henson family's business nearly collapsed three separate times, I went to my father on my knees so he'd bail them out. Earlier this year, she finally said yes to my proposal, and I thought the eight years had been worth every last thing I'd given up.
Then Howard James walked back into the country the very next day.
Everything changed after Howard came back.
I'd only agreed to take over the family's Meridian City branch to give Judy—to give us—one final chance.
Looking at her now, I didn't need one.
"Dustin, if you won't even say sorry, you're really going to make me cry…"
Howard's eyes were brimming with tears.
I swallowed the disgust clawing up my throat and shoved myself to my feet.
My fist came up and slammed square into Howard's face.
I ripped the high-pressure water gun from the man beside me, aimed it straight at Howard's crotch, and pulled the trigger.
His shorts were soaked through in a second—red cartoon-print underwear on full display for every last person watching.
"Don't run!"
I kept the water gun on him without letting up.
"Water Splash Festival, right? Whole point is getting drenched! Come on!!"
Howard cupped both hands over his crotch and scrambled behind Judy, shrieking the entire way.
The bruise from my fist was already darkening on his face.
I grabbed the scarf from Judy's hand and threw it around my own shoulders.
One cold look at her, and I turned to leave.
The kick hit my lower back before I'd taken a full step.
Judy.
Pain drilled straight through the old wound and locked my whole body rigid.
But it didn't come close to the pain in my chest.
Three years ago, a rival faction kidnapped Judy. I brought every last man from Crown City to get her back.
A knife went clean through my lower back.
Eighteen hours on the operating table. Thirty-six steel pins just to hold my spine together.
The day I was discharged, Judy knelt in front of me and told me what I'd done for her was a debt she could never repay in this lifetime. For three years after that, every time the sky turned gray or the rain set in, the pain nailed me to the bed—and Judy would cancel everything, meetings, dinners, all of it, just to stay beside me pressing hot compresses against my back, hour after hour, without stopping.
Now, for Howard's sake,
she'd kicked me right in that same spot.
"Dustin, I told you. Apologize. Or you're not leaving here in one piece."
Judy's voice, cold as iron, dragged me back.
She pressed her foot down on my lower back.
*Crack.*
Something deep in my spine gave way—a white-hot, nerve-shredding bolt of pain that ripped a strangled groan out of me before I could clamp it down. I knew instantly. Something in there had just snapped.
The surgeon's warning echoed through the haze: one more serious hit to my lower back, and I'd never walk again. No surgeon on earth could undo it.
My father's words on the phone just minutes ago flashed through my mind.
I clenched my teeth, looked up at Judy, and forced the words out through the shaking.
"I was wr—"
She cut me off before I could finish.
"Apologize?! You think I still want to hear it?!"
Viciousness gleamed in her eyes.
"Dustin, I've spent eight years spoiling you rotten. Today, I'm putting you back in your place."
She glanced over her shoulder. Dozens of water guns swung toward me in unison.
The jets hit all at once, dense as whips, hammering into my face, my chest, my back.
The force knocked me flat.
Judy reached down and laced her fingers through Howard's.
