Page 10 of Guardian

To Mitch I ordered, “Get out! I don’t keep cash in the house. I learned that lesson from you and your cohorts. I can’t help you.”

“Shut the hell up and give me the damn money! I know you’ve got a stash somewhere in case of emergencies. Bitch, this is an emergency!”

One of his damn associates again, surely. The ones I couldn’t prove he had.

“If I don’t pay him, he’ll gut me. Hand it over or I’ll beat it out of you. Better yet, I’ll bang on the kid until you give me everything you’ve got.”

“You’ll never lay a hand on him. I’ll kill you first.” I headed for the kitchen and the knife set on the counter.

I meant every word I’d said. He wasn’t touching Jackson.

He caught up with me. His hand circled my wrist and twisted it. It hurt like hell and made my eyes water. I was sure the bone would snap.

With my free hand I punched out at him, missing him by several inches. Still twisting at my wrist and forcing me toward the floor, he grabbed the empty beer bottle I’d left on the counter. He slammed it down, causing shattered glass to rain down on my face. I felt the sting as the shards made tiny cuts all over my cheeks and forehead.

Between the pain in my wrist and the burning on my face it was difficult to keep from screaming. I held it back so thatJackson didn’t come running to help me. Mitch was so far gone that he wouldn’t remember Jackson meant something to him. He’d strike out and feel remorse when it was too late.

The sight of my blood running down my face was enough to change things. He’d gone too far, and he knew it. Mitch suddenly released me and fled. I lay limp on the floor and allowed the tears to come.

I heard my son shout, asking if I was hurt. I don’t know whether or not I answered, but Jackson found me there, and we huddled together. We’d survived the terror in the night once again.

I almost laughed when someone knocked on what was left of the door frame. With the door laying on the floor I knew whoever it was could clearly see us huddled on the tile. It was most likely a neighbor who’d been woken up by the noise we’d made. They’d come to see if we were alive.

I was betting they’d called the cops too. Good. Maybe this time jail would stick long enough, and he would get the picture.

“Jackson!” a man yelled, rushing in without waiting for the knock to be answered.

“Kirk!” my son answered, jumping up and leaving me where I’d landed. “We’re here. He’s gone.”

I glanced up to see Jackson’s arms wrapped tightly around the waist of the bald, tatted man I had judged to be the enemy upon first sight. He held my son away from him and searched his face and body for obvious injuries. Finding none, he turned his gaze on me.

I saw the muscle in his jaw ticking with anger when he saw the blood on me.

“How bad are you hurt?” he ground out through teeth gritted to control his rage. “Is he really gone?”

“He’s gone, and I’ll live. What the fuck are you doing here? Why are you at my house in the middle of the night like a damnwhite knight?” I asked, my face throbbing so badly I wasn’t in the mood to be the least bit grateful.

“I called him,” Jackson admitted. “I knew that since it was Dad you wouldn’t call the cops, and I was scared for you. Dad wasn’t in his right mind. He might have killed you.”

I stared at Jackson, trying to process his words. His action came as a shock to me. He knew how I felt about Kirk, yet he’d called him to come help us. It felt a bit like a betrayal. I didn’t say that though because he was standing tall and practically daring me to chastise him for doing what he believed was best for both of us.

“I told him to call if he was ever in trouble, so that’s on me. He’s a good kid, and he wanted someone to protect you. I’m capable of that. If the fucker was still here, he’d have paid for what he did to you.”

His face was twisted in anger I didn’t understand. What did this man care about what was done to me? He was a mentor, forced or otherwise, helping children. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t want to. No matter how sexy his hardening jaw or rippling muscles were. No matter how much something inside of me screamed to be protected rather than constantly having to be the strong one.

Chapter 6

Jemma

Kirk’s tone and facecalmed, though his nostrils still flared. “Since he’s not here for me to teach a lesson, let me help you up and get those cuts taken care of before they get infected. We don’t want scars on your pretty face.”

“That’s not necessary, Kirk. I can deal with it myself.” I didn’t want his pity, and I didn’t want to appear weak in front of a man.

He rubbed a hand across his brow and let out a deep sigh. “It’s necessary in my eyes. And you can call me Sweet.”

Without asking permission, he reached down while he was talking and lifted me clear of the broken glass.

It was a thoughtful thing to do, keeping me from cutting my bare feet on the broken glass. I’d never even thought about what a predicament I was in until he got me out of it without breaking a sweat.

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