His words tumbled together, and he ran the back of his hand over his swollen eyes, trying to compose himself. “I didn’t know who else to call. I didn’t know—”
Out of habit, I checked behind the door, silently breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing that the space was empty. The carpet was free of stains and didn’t squish beneath my boots.
This wasn’t like before.
As I glanced around the room, nothing appeared to be out of place. I could almost believe that it had all been a bad dream.
Almost.
“I’ll deal with you later. Right now, I need—”
Angel stepped out into the hall, closing the bedroom door softly behind him before crossing the room. “You need to shut the fuck up,” he stated, his voice low and even. “She’s resting.”
His eyes flashed with anger, but I was distracted by the sight of bloodstained clothing. I was a scared sixteen-year-old kid again, standing in the exact same spot where I’d rocked my mother’s dead body in my arms. “Is she?”
I didn’t know what I was asking. She wasn’t okay; that much was obvious, judging by the state Angel was in.
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.
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 befor
e 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
Grey: 2000
I sank down onto the comforter without loosening my grip while her body continued to shake and tremble. It reminded me of the night she’d shown up to Leather & Lace. I’d shed blood for her then, but it hadn’t been enough to keep her safe.
“N-n-no!” Celia cried out suddenly, her body going rigid with fear. “I’ll b-be quiet.”
“I’m here.” I squeezed her shoulder as her foot came up, weakly kicking at air. Her toes were stained with blood, and I was once again struck with the need to hurt someone until they looked like she did.
“I don’t know where Jamie is,” she moaned.
I pulled her into my chest, and this time, she latched onto my shirt like I was her lifeline. A tear slid down her cheek, and I gently pressed my mouth to it. “I’m here, princess. Ain’t leavin’ you ever again.”
Celia blinked, her pupils still dilated, as she fought to come back from wherever the drugs had taken her. “Jamie?” Her teeth began to chatter, causing the cuts around her mouth to ooze. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ apologize to me, darlin’. I—”
With a low groan, she leaned forward and looped her arms around my neck. “N-no… all my…”
Instead of finishing her sentence, she tightened her grip, forcing my cheek down against the top of her head. The moan that came out of her was long and low-pitched to the point that it almost didn’t sound human.
“Celia? Baby, what hurts?”
She slumped back in my arms before panting, “Everything.”
Doc had missed something.
I stood up, having decided I’d risk it all to get her help. I’d pay off a goddamn hospital if that was what it took.
“No… please,” she mumbled, prying my hand away from the belt of her robe.
“Gonna get you checked over, princess. You need a doctor.” A real one, I silently added.
She shook her head. “Mmmm… fine.”
“You ain’t fine.”
I watched as her chin slowly dipped down toward her chest, her hold on my neck loosening. Sweat ran down her forehead, triggering the strangest sense of déjà vu; as if I’d been through this before with her.
My right hand grew damp with sweat, and I adjusted her, before moving it up to rest on top of her thigh. As much as I wanted to let her sleep, I had to know how bad it was.
“Please,” she begged, as I pulled at the opening on her robe, her lips connecting with the skin of my throat. “Don’t.”
I stood paralyzed next to our bed, trying to decide the best course of action. Before, I would’ve fought her for control and demanded she listen to me; ultimately doing what I wanted.
But this wasn’t like old times.
We were in uncharted territory.
The fight gone; I lowered her back onto the bed in defeat. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix her.
I settled her head against the pillows and reached for the comforter when I realized the palm of my hand was coated in blood, not sweat.
The belt on Celia’s robe had come undone, and with the drugs running through her veins, her reflexes were slow. It took several attempts, but she finally managed to pull it closed again.
More than enough time for me to see what they’d done to her.
My knees buckled beneath me, and I gripped the bedpost to steady myself. Where there weren’t bruises, there were bite marks; from her tits all the way down to her exposed belly. Several were covered in dried blood from where the fuckers’ teeth had broken through her skin.
I clenched my jaw and squeezed the wood until it creaked and groaned beneath my hand. This was more than an interrogation.
My breath came in short, panicked bursts, and I forced myself to turn away from her as my vision blurred. My nostrils flared with each measured exhale, but this time, there was no reining in my emotions.
Tears that had once been prayers now fell in apology for all the ways I’d failed her and my girls.
It had finally happened.
Past and present had collided, leaving me feeling as if I’d stepped out of my body; forced to watch helplessly as my wife bore the brunt of my sins.
I gasped and choked my way through my next breath, releasing the sob that had been lodged in my throat since I’d gotten the news. I’d made a similar sound the night Ma was killed.
Just like in my nightmare, I wanted to run; not from her, but to find the men responsible. Like some fucked up version of a Greek hero, I wanted to go to war for her before coming home to kneel at her feet; presenting the heads of our enemies like a goddamned offering.
I was no hero though.
And none of it would make a damn bit of difference after what she’d endured. We were a goddamn tragedy; there was no happy ending. There never had been.
I caught sight of my reflection in the vanity mirror and released my stranglehold on the bedpost.
“Jamie?”
Keeping my back to her, I nodded. “Yeah, princess?”
“The light’s making my head hurt.” Her voice cracked, right along with what was left of my heart.
Another tear ran down my face as I walked over to the window, but I swiped it away and took deep breaths until I felt like I was in control again. I wanted to drop to my knees and atone for my sins, but she didn’t need my shit on top of what she was already dealing with.
Lost in thought, I turned the wand on the blinds until the room darkened, ignoring the clicking sound until the damn thing snapped off in my hand. I laid it on the windowsill before glancing back to see if Celia had noticed.
“Are you leaving?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.
I flexed my fingers, debating my options. The monster in me craved a good hunt, but the broken woman in my bed called to my heart. “Need to find the men that did this to you, princess.”
“Right now, I just want you to lay with me.”
When I made no attempt to move away from the window, she added, “Please.”
I toed my boots off and climbed in next to her, pulling her back up against my chest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I wept into her hair. “So fuckin’ sorry.”
She let out a soft exhale but didn’t move. It was if her body had given up the fight. When she finally spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. “Tell me a story, Jamie. Something with a happy ending.”
I’d never been known for my stories. Sure, I’d vomit up the shit I’d read about in comic b
ooks over the years, but Celia had always been the storyteller.
“I, uh, I ever tell you how the club got its name?” I asked, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders. When she didn’t answer, I continued. “C’mon, princess, I figured with your Greek mythology smarts, you’d know all about this.”
The back of her head shifted against my collar bone as she looked up at me. “I know what a phoenix is, Jamie.”
“Yeah, Wolverine told me about them when I was a kid, but I wasn’t too impressed with a bird that lived for a few hundred years before burning up into nothing.” I waited for her to correct me, but she stayed silent, curled up against my body.
“He had to explain to me that when it burst into flames, it was reborn. Damn thing rises up from the ashes, stronger than before. Just like you, darlin’. These assholes think they’ve won, but the club’s gonna wipe ‘em out, just like anyone else who’s stood against us.”
“You can drive out a nest of snakes, but if you don’t kill every last one of them…” Celia’s voice trailed off in a soft exhale.
I froze. “Where’d you hear that?”
It was impossible.
We’d killed the Serpents; wiped out every last officer the night they took out Dragon. On the off-chance one of them had survived, why in the hell had they waited fourteen years for revenge?
Her lashes fluttered, and she lowered her gaze down to my chest. “Doesn’t matter. They took the money. You’ll never find them now.”
I lifted my head up off my arm. “What did they say, Celia? Where were they going? The cash I gave you—that was, what? Four grand?”
Her lower lip quivered, and she dropped her forehead to my chest with a wince. “No. It was more. A lot more.”
With a sharp cry, her body contorted, and I tightened my grip, reminded again that the idea that she’d been safe here had always been just that. An idea.
An illusion.
Something I’d been too stupid to recognize.
More tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and fell onto her robe before disappearing into the fleece. I’d always seen myself as her protector, going up against her parents and Betsy, but hadn’t been here when she’d needed me the most.
Protector: Silent Phoenix MC Series: Book Four Page 4
