Page 12 of Protector

I’d spent my years learning how to break a body down to the point that it had become routine, but it sure as fuck didn’t stop me from crying out something unintelligible as I passed the bathroom. Shards of glass coated the countertop and floor from where the mirror had been shattered.

I thought I knew so much, but none of it prepared me for the moment I finally laid eyes on her. The nightmare that had plagued me for years was nothing compared to the real thing. Even a sick fuck like me hadn’t been able to dream up the level of violence that had been done to her.

Celia was wrapped in her favorite fluffy pink bathrobe in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows, and shaking like she was having a seizure. Her jaw was clamped down, and she stared right through me with eyes that were glassed over.

She was here, but she wasn’t.

My girl.

With her right eye swollen shut and lower lip split down the middle, her beautiful face was almost unrecognizable. The black and purple bruises trailed down her cheeks and throat before disappearing underneath the robe. Chunks of hair had been torn out, leaving behind bloody patches along her scalp.

This had been an interrogation.

My chest tightened at the sight of her and the bloody handprints along the wall leading into the bathroom where she’d tried to pull herself up. She’d been left helpless because of me.

Because I’d been so damn convinced that my plan was foolproof.

Angel was right—I might not have swung my fists, but I’d done this to her all the same.

My eyes darted back and forth over the destruction before landing on Celia again, and I saw what I’d missed before. Comedian, holding my wife’s bandaged hand in his like Florence fucking Nightingale.

Rage flooded my veins and turned my vision red when he whispered something in her ear until I could almost hear the snap of his bones beneath my fist.

“Don’t touch her,” I growled, fighting to stay in control. He pretended to be a goddamn saint whenever she was around, but I knew the truth.

He might not have had a hand in what happened to her, but I no longer gave a fuck. He was touching her like she was his. I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to remember that my real enemy was not the men who’d dropped everything to get to her.

Even if one of them was a sadistic fuck who’d gotten off on abusing my son.

Hawk, and anyone else who had a hand in hurting her would be sent screaming to the Reaper soon enough.

Comedian placed Celia’s hand back in her lap before addressing me. “Had to give her something, Pres. She was in a bad state.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “She’s drugged?”

“It should be wearing off shortly. She didn’t need to deal with that…” Angel cleared his throat. “Didn’t seem right.”

Comedian dropped his eyes back down to her. “Not like she’s much better now; poor thing keeps crying out like she’s being attacked again.”

I pushed the fury back down to the darkest parts of my soul. I’d save it until the day Hawk was on his knees in front of me.

“Speaking of not doin’ good, you look like shit. Were you in a fight?” He asked, letting his fingers trail across her swollen cheek.

I swore my molars were going to crack under the pressure. I stalked forward and gently lifted her off the bed and into my arms before growling, “Get. Out.”

Celia’s head fell against my chest and she let out a muffled groan, causing the lump in my throat to expand until it hurt to swallow.

I was holding my entire world. My arms tightened around her body, and I shot Angel a desperate look.

“Let’s give them a minute, yeah?” He pointed toward the door, saving me from caving Comedian’s face in. “Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just,” Angel’s mouth fell into a flat line. “Just stay strong for her, okay? Don’t let her see you fall apart.”

The scent of bleach stung my nostrils as he passed, leaving behind more questions than answers.

Chapter Three

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