Page 30 of Timber's Girl

“Think again, bitch. You're gonna pay for leaving me. And then you're gonna pay some more for letting that bastard fuck what’s mine.” Dean backhands me, and the spot throbs under the powerful force of his hand.

Whimpering, I cover the bruised cheek and stumble to my feet, forcing words past my tightening throat. “You need to leave before I call the cops.”

He laughs—an evil, dark thing.

“The cops? Bitch, Iamthe cops. Who do you think is gonna help you?” He slaps my other cheek, whipping my head around and causing me to lunge into the table. Glass shatters as an empty tumbler crashes to the floor.

“You think your buddies can protect you from assaulting a woman in her own home? This is trespassing. Have you forgotten we’re not in Everton? You have no authority here.”

“I have all the authority, slut!” he shouts. “After your friend sicced her biker boyfriend on me, I wondered if they were harboring you. Then I saw you with that huge motherfucker at the Club Wolf fire, and I knew for sure. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

Ducking beneath the table, my hands skim the floor, searching for anything to use as a weapon, when I find a shard of broken glass. Wrapping it in my hand, I swallow the hiss of pain as it slices my palm.

Fight back, Lindy.

You don't have to take his bullshit anymore.

Levering to my feet, I swing around and plunge it into the first body part I reach. His arm. Dean yells in pain, blood streakinghis forearm, and I race toward the front door, managing to rip it open before his hand catches my shirt.

We tumble onto the front porch and down the steps until we lay in a heap on the ground outside.

“You fucking cunt!”Slap.“You think you're stronger than me?”Slap.“Think you can beat me?”

Consciousness fades in and out as blood fills my mouth. My fingers scratch at his face as I try to gather enough force to roll him off me, but he's too heavy. And all he does is keep screaming in my face.

“You got lucky at Rust. I told Martha to…”

Martha? She's working with Dean? That would explain why I got sick. Why I haven't heard from her since that night.

Slap.

I almost laugh at his technique. Slaps, really? The most demeaning way to hurt someone.

I hate that the someone is me.

Clawing at his face, neck, anywhere I can reach, I try fighting him off, blocking a few swings of his arm.

Suddenly, the roar of a steel calvary pierces the fog surrounding me. Growls and shouts emanate in the air as the weight is lifted from my chest. Familiar men clothed in leather kneel around me, but I don't see the one I want through my swollen eye sockets.

Fox helps me to a sitting position, and that's when Dean and Gideon come into focus. Gideon is wailing on Dean with his fists, and I can't help a smirk.

Serves him right.

Violence in any form should frighten me, but it's obvious verbal threats don't matter to Dean or else he would have heeded Snow's warning from months ago. Instead, he broke into my cabin.

A physical beatdown is fucking justice in my mind.

“You should stop Gideon before he kills him.” That's what I want to say, but I'm not sure if that's what comes out of my mouth because it’s painful to talk.

Someone must understand though, or have the same thought, because Snow and Fox pull Gideon off Dean.

A cop car arrives with lights flashing, and I'm afraid it's one of Dean's friends here to arrest us, until Sheriff Lawson gets out and cuffs my ex.

An ambulance parks beside the cop car, and the EMTs split, one approaching me while the other goes to Dean.

Then the rest of the evening is a blur. Doctors and nurses poking and prodding. Caroline and Faith crying in the corner of my hospital room, being comforted by their men.

Throughout it all, Gideon is a constant by my side.

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