Page 27 of Protector

Somehow, she’d found the strength to go on where I woke up alone every day, reminded of the fact that I’d failed at the most basic of tasks—keeping her safe.

Whatever remained of my high began to fade, and I dropped, bare-assed, onto the bed with a groan. “You heard from Wolverine or Angel? How’s she doin’?”

Slim tossed me the jeans from the floor. “Ain’t discussing your Ol’ Lady while your dick’s hangin’ out.”

It took talking my cock down and falling into the wall twice before I managed to get the denim on. “Okay. I’m fuckin’ decent. You happy now?”

He sat in the beaten-down armchair and lit up a cigarette. “Wolverine helped her get a job—”

“A job?” I interrupted. “Why? She has the bank account that he set up. There’s more than enough in there for her and the girls to live comfortably.”

“She ain’t used one cent of that money, Grey. He found her a job doing the back-office stuff for a bakery—it’s one of ours, but I can’t recall the name. Anyway, she don’t know the club’s runnin’ it.” He took a long drag and ran his hand over his face.

It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. If Celia was hellbent on doing something outside of the house, she could’ve used the money and taken college classes while Kate and Dakota were in school.

I frowned. “Wait. It’s summer. Where are the girls?”

Slim looked down at the threadbare carpet. “They—well, there’s no easy way to say this, but she and the girls moved in with her parents. I guess they’re keeping them while she works.”

“What?” I began pacing the shitty motel room. “Why the fuck would she go there? She hates her parents! I gave her the goddamn house… the car… money.”

“She’s selling the house. Wolverine said he didn’t blame her; hard to feel safe in a place like that.”

“So, she thinks she’s just gonna sell my childhood home, and I’m not gonna have shit to say about that?”

Slim exhaled a cloud of smoke in my direction. “The fuck you gonna do about it, Grey? According to the authorities, you’re dead. And, in the great state of Texas, everything passes on to your widow. You don’t get to say shit about shit.”

I eyed him warily. “Don’t call her that. Don’t fuckin’ call her that word.”

“What? A widow? That’s what you made her, right? When you walked out on her and the girls—”

“That’s enough, Slim,” I growled. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth with a grin. “Oh, yeah? How many times have you gone up against me and won over the years?”

With a heaving chest, I stumbled over to the nightstand and took a bump of blow while glaring up at Slim, silently daring him to stop me.

“Goddammit, Jamie.” He stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up.

“Ain’t a fuckin’ line, Slim. Just takin’ the edge off.”

“Takin’ the edge off? The edge off of what?”

The pain in my head lessened, and I stood up straighter, finally feeling in control again. A line was for forgetting, but a bump was good for just existing. “Excuse the fuck out of me, but you’re the one who barged into my room, droppin’ the family shit on me before I was fully awake—”

“You asked about your Ol’ Lady first, asshole.” His gaze softened. “After what she went through, she deserves to move on, Grey. If she feels it’s best for her and the girls—”

My fist struck his jaw with a satisfying smack, the momentum sending me staggering past him and into the dresser. The tequila toppled off and landed on its side, distracting me just long enough for Slim to react.

He barreled into me like a freight train, and we both went down in a tangle of limbs. I managed to block his first punch; the coke in my bloodstream convincing me that I was invincible.

Unfortunately, the feeling was brief as his second, third, and fourth hits were all painfully accurate.

I clutched my gut just as he swung again, connecting with the side of my head. The throbbing that had all but disappeared only moments ago now returned with a vengeance.

“You gettin’ sick of old men kickin’ your ass yet, or you wanna keep goin’?” he asked with a snarl.

When I remained silent, he glanced a warning blow off my ribs. “Last chance, asshole. I don’t give a fuck if you’re Pres or not. It was a fuckin’ cheap shot, and your ass is gonna pay.”

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