It was almost sobering, the thought that someone who was as smart as Zimmerman—a fact that Brandon admitted incredibly reluctantly—could be so thrown off by love. If nothing else, it confirmed the fact that he didn't want anything like that in his life. Having yourself so dependent on someone else for happiness did little more than drive you crazy when shit inevitably went wrong. He'd experienced something similar, to a lesser degree, with Allie. He couldn't imagine being in Zimmerman's shoes.
Why the fuck wouldn't he go down? The two hits to his ribs should've been more than enough to at least stagger him, but apparently he had blind determination working in his favor. He had to add that to the things he was starting to respect about the guy; the lengths he was was willing to go to, to protect what was his. Almost made it hard not to go right along with him to get her back. Almost. But not quite.
Zimmerman's words took him off guard and pointed out exactly the barb he'd shot the other man's way. He probably shouldn't have wished her harm, because for all his dislike of the woman, she was still a person, and Brandon's instincts were to protect people. But... it had its desired effect, hadn't it? So why was he beating himself up over it? Straightening himself up, he thought quickly once more and looked up at where Zimmerman stood, a few steps away.
"I can't do that," he said angrily, when Zimmerman told him to get out of his way. "You'll thank me later."
Quickly, he bridged the gap and took advantage of the fact that he was off-guard, forcing his body downward and putting him into a sleeper hold. "Listen, Zimmerman," he seethed, eyes narrowed. "I don't like you and I know you don't like me. But trust me when I say that I'm doing this for your own fucking good. You're no use to your girl dead, maybe you'll realize that after a little rest."