Crockett's breath hitched. The primal, animal part of his brain screamed at him to run, to back away from the man standing in front of him. But Donita was watching. His ego anchored his feet to the concrete.
"Or what?" Crockett sneered, his voice shaking slightly. He pushed his chest forward, trying to close the distance. "You're gonna fight me? Do you know who my family is? We'll crush you, you nobody."
Crockett thrust his right hand forward, aiming to shove Brant hard in the center of his chest.
Before Crockett's fingertips even brushed the nylon of the tactical jacket, Brant moved.
It wasn't a brawl. It was a surgical strike.
Brant's left hand shot up, his fingers clamping around Crockett's wrist like a steel vice. He twisted his hips, stepping inside Crockett's guard. Simultaneously, Brant's right hand shot under Crockett's armpit, his palm driving upward against the joint with terrifying velocity.
Pop.
The sound of the shoulder joint violently tearing out of its socket echoed sharply in the cold air.
Crockett's eyes rolled back in his head. A high-pitched, inhuman scream ripped from his throat.
Brant released his grip instantly.
Crockett's legs gave out. He collapsed onto the freezing asphalt, his knees slamming into the ground. He cradled his right arm against his chest, his body convulsing as wave after wave of nauseating agony radiated from his dislocated shoulder. Sweat instantly beaded on his forehead, mixing with the freezing wind.
Donita let out a blood-curdling shriek. She stumbled backward, her high heels tangling, and fell hard onto her backside. She scrambled away, her hands scraping against the rough concrete, her eyes wide with absolute, paralyzing terror.
Inside the supercar, Elvera watched through the tinted, bulletproof glass. She didn't gasp. She watched the precise, brutal efficiency of Brant's movements. A slow, appreciative smirk touched the corner of her mouth.
Brant stood over Crockett's writhing body. His breathing hadn't even accelerated. He looked down at the man with the detached boredom of someone taking out the trash.
Brant reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a folded, black silk pocket square.
Slowly, methodically, Brant wiped his left hand, dragging the silk over his knuckles and palm, erasing the invisible taint of having touched Crockett.
Crockett was hyperventilating, his face pressed against the dirty asphalt, groaning in agony.
Donita fumbled in her coat pocket, pulling out her phone with shaking hands. "I'm calling the police!" she sobbed hysterically. "You're a monster! I'm calling the cops!"
Brant finished wiping his hand. He let the black silk square drop. It fluttered in the wind and landed directly on Crockett's sweating, pale cheek.
Brant turned his head slowly, locking his dead eyes onto Donita.
"Call them," Brant said. His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection. "Tell them exactly what happened. But understand this."
He took one step toward her. Donita scrambled backward again, whimpering.
"If either of you ever breathe the same air as my sister again," Brant said, the lethal promise hanging heavy in the freezing wind, "the next thing I snap won't be a shoulder. It will be a neck."
Donita dropped her phone. It clattered onto the pavement. She clamped her hands over her mouth, violently shaking her head, too terrified to even sob out loud.
Brant held her gaze for one more second, ensuring the message was branded into her skull. Then, he turned away.
He walked around the front of the supercar, his heavy boots crunching on the asphalt, and pulled open the butterfly door. He slid into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut.
The heavy thud of the door sealing shut instantly cut off the sound of Crockett's groans and the howling wind.
Inside the cabin, it was dead silent. The air was thick with the smell of rich leather and the warm, comforting blast of the heater.
Brant pressed the ignition button. The V8 engine roared to life, a deep, powerful vibration that Elvera felt in her chest.
Brant turned his head to look at her. The terrifying, cold-blooded enforcer vanished. His eyes were soft, crinkling at the corners.
"Did I scare you?" Brant asked, his voice a gentle, low rumble. He reached out and adjusted the climate control, turning the heat up a fraction. "Want me to put on some music?"
Elvera leaned back into the plush leather seat. The tension that had coiled in her muscles for years slowly began to unwind.
"No," Elvera said, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "I actually really enjoyed your conflict resolution skills."
Brant chuckled, a deep, rich sound. He shifted the car into drive.
The supercar launched forward with neck-snapping acceleration. The G-force pressed Elvera back into her seat. Through the rearview mirror, she watched the pathetic figures of Donita and Crockett shrink into tiny, insignificant dots on the dark Brooklyn street.
The car merged onto the main avenue, leaving the decay and hypocrisy of the Wright family far behind.
Brant kept his eyes on the road, his large hands resting easily on the steering wheel.
"Welcome home, Elvera," Brant said softly.
