Page 11 of Protector

Richard watched warily as Bear and Slim filed in behind me; still firmly planted on the coffee table with his hand over his mouth.

Angel’s jaw tightened as he walked over to me. “I didn’t know she was still here in town, Jamie. All alone. That don’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah? Well, get in line behind Dick. You two can speak your piece in a minute. Right now, though, I’m goin’ to see my wife.” I strode toward him, mistakenly assuming that he was raising his arm to let me pass.

The force of the blow from his fist sent me stumbling back a step, and I clutched my eye before growling, “What the fuck was that for?”

Bear let out a low whistle but made no attempt to intervene.

“C’mon, Richard,” Slim stepped in. “Let’s get some air and give these two some space, yeah?”

Ol’ Dick slid his ass right off the coffee table and disappeared through the front door with Slim without so much as a goddamned word, leaving Angel and me to our showdown.

Angel straightened his fingers before clenching them into a fist again. “That’s just a fraction of what I want to do to you, Jamie. You deserve to have your ass beat over this shit.”

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. “I did what I thought was best.”

“Don’t sugarcoat this; not with me. You sacrificed your family for the club. You know who that sounds like?”

I shook my head and bit out, “Don’t you fuckin’ say it. I ain’t nothin’ like my old man was.”

Angel laughed bitterly. “Nah, you’re right. You let other men beat your Ol’ Lady for you—”

I was on him before he finished talking and we went down in a heap. “You motherfucker,” I roared. “You know what she means to me—”

In spite of his age, Angel managed to land a blow under my jaw that left me sprawled out on my back, panting for air. His boot came down against my chest as I moved to sit up, pinning me against the carpet.

“Now, you listen to me, you piece of shit,” he snarled, spit flying from his mouth. “That woman in there is as close to a saint as your mama was, and I’m covered in her blood because you left her and your kids unprotected—”

“I had Hawk—” I tried, only to be cut off again.

“Hawk ain’t you, don’t you get that? You leave your family with anybody else, and they’re as good as dead. Now, I want you to listen for once in your goddamn life before you barge in there, thinkin’ you’re the hero. Can you do that?”

When I nodded, Angel removed his boot and knelt beside me. “She’s in bad shape, Jamie.”

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, unable to look away from the bloody outline left behind on my chest. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that the girls are gonna be stayin’ with Richard and Norma for a while. Doc checked her over; she’s got broken bones… a concussion—”

“Was she—did he?” I choked on the words, knowing the ways we broke our enemies, but not wanting to believe it could ever happen to her.

Angel paused and looked over at the bedroom door before quietly answering. “No.”

“Thank the saints,” I breathed out. “Can I see her?”

His lips pursed as if he wanted to say something else. Instead, he just gave a jerky nod and led me into the bedroom.

This was what happened to bad Catholics.

It was my only thought as the door opened to reveal a scene that would be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. The floral scent of Celia’s perfume was gone, replaced with the strong stench of sweat and blood.

I’d dealt in blood since the night I sent my old man to meet the Reaper. I could look at any given pattern and instantly recognize the type of weapon that had been used.

Drips were common during fight nights. Broken noses, busted lips; run-of-the-mill stuff. Cast-off patterns, or spatters, were typical with interrogations when we’d bring out the kill-lights or our fists to get what we needed.

Blood spray was the byproduct of a severed artery, usually a slit throat; and a mist-like spatter was the result of a gun.

I knew what the patterns on the walls meant, but it didn’t stop my hand from coming up over my mouth in horror. I’d seen grown men vomit up their own blood and never lost a second of sleep, yet my legs tried to buckle beneath me when I saw where my wife had gotten sick on the carpet.

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