Page 34 of Saber's Surrender

“Seeing as we’re in the twenty-first century, family members arenotobligated to settle their family’s debts,” I retort.

Wrecker is barely holding onto his control and every word out of Ji’s mouth puts another nail in the metaphorical coffin. Granted, he’ll get a literal one, but not before Wrecker plays a bit. And while our old ladies may be considered ‘property’, they’re not possessions. They all have their own minds and as long as they’re respectful to us, they can spout whatever they want behind closed doors.

“You sick bastard,” Foxy cries. “Stay away from my family, Ji.”

My old lady’s willingness to confront this bastard has me practically beaming with pride. Roxy isn’t one to deal with confrontations, but this is one she’s jumped headlong into and I know it’s because she’s formed a bond with Harper.

“I’m your family, Roxanne,” Jiovanni literally spits, his saliva landing before my boots. “Seems we have a common friend.”

“Don’t give a shit if we share the same mother,” Wrecker growls. “You are a dead man, Jiovanni.”

“And what army is going to take me out, Wrecker?” Ji taunts. “You think I’m scared of you and your little biker posse here?”

“Maybe not, but you should really learn to pay attention to your surroundings,” Miranda says, taking a tire iron that I suspect she pulled out of her trunk and swinging it at the back of his head, knocking him out cold. “There. I shut him up, can y’all handle the rest?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, a grin spread across my face. “Who knew you had it in you?”

“I didn’t know I had it in me until I heard about him buying women. Did I overstep?” Miranda asks.

“No,” Wrecker says, a mirthful smirk aimed her way. “We appreciate the assist.”

I reach out and remove the steel bar from her hands so I can get rid of any evidence that she was in the proximity. She nods her head, wipes her hands on her scrub pants, and huffs, “Good riddance.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Roxy

“Come on,Miranda. I’ll walk you to your car,” I offer, still in disbelief that she is the one who finally shut Ji up.

Sweet, docile Miranda. The woman who takes on anyone’s shift when they can’t cover them. The woman who I saw just today, place a blanket over a homeless man’s shoulders, ignoring the odor wafting off of him and then she gave him her lunch. She regularly donates items to the care closet we started for those who come in needing things, like clean clothes and personal hygiene kits. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body but she laid Ji out without any fuck’s given. I’m actually very impressed because I’m not sure if I could’ve done the same thing that she did without breaking down in hysterics.

“I couldn’t leave, Roxy. I knew you were in danger; I could feel it in every fiber of my being.”

“You did good, Miranda. How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly, I feel no guilt over what I did. I can’t believe that man is related to you. How did that happen?”

I have a feeling it's not truly a question, but more of a bewildered statement, but I answer anyway. “I was fostered by his biological aunt and uncle. We aren’t blood related.”

She snorts and nods her head as if she’s come to a conclusion. “That explains a lot.”

“He’s always been a blight in the family. A viper who’s always ready to strike whether he was provoked or not. The Pena’s are assholes. Plain and simple. They’re abusers in the physical and mental sense, but none of them are like him. They don’t purchase women like they’re livestock, use them up and then put them back on the market.”

She harrumphs before informing me, “I have another tire iron at home in my backup vehicle. If you need me to beat some sense into anyone else, let me know.”

“I will,” I say as I watch her open up the driver's door and sit into her seat.

“See you Tuesday.”

“See you then. If you need me before our shift, reach out. Okay?” I reply.

“I will, I promise,” she supplies, shutting her door and hitting the start switch on the dashboard. When she waves at me, I step back so she can pull out without running over my toes and lift my hand, waving back.

I blow out a pent up breath before I square my shoulders and walk back over to where the men are huddled over Jiovanni’s prone body. “Is that brain matter?” I ask, crouching down for a better look.

“Yep,” Weston says, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “She whacked him good.”

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