Southern Heart

by Madison, Natasha

  "This is insane." The words come out of my mouth.

  "Chelsea," my father says my name. "Let him finish."

  I shake my head and put my hand to my stomach. "He stabbed me six times but got the same one twice." I shake my head, trying to block out the words. "He dropped the knife one night and forgot about it."

  "Was this before or after you were shot?" I ask him, looking over at the men in the room and wondering why the fuck they haven’t said shit to him.

  "Same day," he says. "He did my legs first, and then when he dropped the knife, he took the gun out."

  "For fuck’s sake," Ethan says now, and I want him to get angry. I want him to ask all the fucking questions.

  "I got the knife and hid it. But not before he came out and hit me some more," he says, and I look at him.

  "I’ve seen your wounds," I say. "There is no way that was done with a hand."

  "You're right," he says, looking straight at me. "Sometimes, they were his steel-toed boots. Other times, it was the bat just for good measure," he says. "I got loose and waited or maybe I passed out, but I knew the lay of the land." He looks at Ethan. "I know the surroundings like I know the back of my hand. I waited until I knew he passed out and then crawled." He sits up now as proud as can be, this man who just spent five days being tortured by the person who should have protected him. "I don’t know if you can call it crawling." I look down at his hands. "I pulled myself inch by fucking inch," he says, and my stomach starts to turn. "It took me over eight hours to get to my neighbor’s land, which takes thirty minutes to hike." My head spins around and around as he says the next part. "There was no way he would have left me alive. Not this time."

  "It was your training," my uncle Jacob says. "Your training saved you."

  "I don’t know what the fuck it was, but at one point, I just wanted to let fucking go. I could barely fucking see out of one eye. Every single time I took a breath, it felt like I was being stabbed over and over again. Every time I moved, I felt the stab wounds in my legs rip open even more. Forget about the bullet wound. Forget about the gash in my head or the fact that one of my eyes was swollen shut," he says. "I got to the truck, and the only place I could think of was making it here. For five days, he beat me and tortured me. He wanted me to beg for my life." The words pour out of him so painfully. "He wanted me to beg him and bow down to him. The more I fought it, the harder the hits came, but there was no fucking way in hell I would bend to him. There was no fucking way I was going to let him win." He shakes his head, and now the tears roll out of me over and over again. "I was not going to let him fucking win!" he roars out. "Not then and not fucking now. If I was going to die, I was going to die on my terms." I turn now, walking out of the room straight to the bathroom.

  "Chelsea." I hear my father calling my name, but I close the door and make it just in time to throw up in the toilet. "Honey," he says softly, and I get up, walking over to the sink. Turning on the tap, I cup my hands under the stream. I wash my face, then open the bathroom door just a touch, seeing my father standing there with worry all over his face. I push open the door, letting my father come in. "Honey." He whispers my nickname and holds out his arms, and I run into him, my sob muffled in his chest.

  His arms go around me, and I know that I’m safe. I know he has me for as long as I need him. "It’s okay," he whispers in my ear.

  "His father did that to him," I say, my eyes open and are focused on the wall. "Beat him to an inch of his life." I let go of him now. "How? How can someone do that to their own child?"

  "I can’t explain that to you," he says. "I mean, my father was no walk in the park, and he definitely never helped me with homework." He has never really spoken about his father. He was dead before I was born. I do know from the stories that people tell me, that he was not a nice man. He was the reason that Ethan left us when he turned twenty-one.

  "That man is lucky to be alive," I say softly. "You didn’t see the wounds, Dad," I say softly. "You didn’t spend over six hours stitching him up. You didn’t have to fix a man whose own father did that to him."

  "I didn’t." He leans now against the doorjamb of the bathroom, putting his hands in his pockets.

  "Now that you know what he’s up against, you still want him gone?" I hear Ethan say from behind my father.

  "What if his father finds him here?" I ask him and then look at my father. "Are you going to be okay with me being a sitting duck until his father comes back and finishes the job?"

  "He won’t get close enough," my uncle Casey says from behind Ethan. "I would never put you in harm's way." I shake my head, not listening to what he has to say. "I promise you that."

  I look at my father, then to Uncle Casey, who just smiles shyly at me, and then to Ethan. "Fine," I say, not believing I’m going to say these words. The thought of letting my family down is too much for me to handle. "He can stay."

  Chapter 9

  Mayson

  I watch her run away from the room, and I have to look down at my arm, blinking away the tears that will come for her. Her face was riddled with tears as I told them how my own father tied me to a fucking tree for five days and tortured me. I take a deep breath, the pain a little less than it was yesterday but barely. "She going to be okay?" I ask, looking up to see Jacob and Quinn left in the room.

  "Not a chance," Quinn says at the same time that Jacob says, "She’ll be fine."

  I laugh at both of them. "Well, that sounds convincing."

  "It was a hard story," Jacob says, looking at me. "For anyone to hear."

  "I can imagine, especially with the way this family was brought up." I look at them both, and I’m going to admit that I envy what they have. It’s what you read about in story books, and then to see that it actually exists, it’s a gift.

  "I want you to know," Jacob says, coming toward the bed. "That we are going to stand by you."

  I nod my head, not sure I can say anything when Ethan and Casey come back into the room. "Sorry about that," Ethan says, and I look at Casey.

  "Is she okay?" I ask, knowing that this is too much for her. It’s too much for me, and I lived through it. It also kills me that I brought this to her front door, and she got involved with this.

  "Beau is with her," Casey says to me, and a second later, they both come back into the room.

  "Chelsea," I say her name, and she just looks at me, and the redness of her eyes stabs me in the heart. There is so much I want to say to her, but here in the middle of her family is not the place, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. "I’m sorry." I leave out what I’m sorry for.

  "Okay, so now that we have some answers," Casey says, and her eyes never leave mine. "I’ll fill you in on what I found.”

  Chelsea now looks over at him. "The car was reported stolen."

  "I called Mr. Harvey," Ethan says to the room. "Told him you had an emergency and your car didn’t work."

  I shake my head. "He is never going to believe that."

  "He didn’t," Ethan laughs, "but he said to tell that son of a bitch he better put gas in the tank."

  I laugh now; we didn’t always get along, but we did share a couple of moments where we respected each other. He’s a veteran and fought in the Vietnam War, so we bonded over surviving and serving. "I’m sure he did."

  "I got a copy of the fire report," Casey says. "Arson."

  "Wait, what?" Chelsea asks, looking around at all the men in the room and then looking down.

  "I’m already in this," she says. "So if you guys want to suddenly protect me, should you have not brought him to my house?"

  "She’s right," I say to the room. "She deserves to know what we know." I look at her and see her beauty, and then I tell myself to back off. She is too young for me, and besides, she doesn’t need someone who has nothing.

  "Fine," Ethan says. "The cabin was burned to the ground."

  "Did you find his father in there?" she asks, hopeful that this is all over.

  "No," Casey says. "And." He looks
down. "Your gun is missing also."

  "Of course it is," Chelsea says. "How do you think he got shot?"

  "We have eyes everywhere," Casey says. "We have this house wired up tight."

  "We can take shifts," Quinn says.

  "Why?" Chelsea asks, and we all look at her. "If no one knows he’s here, why would everyone be here? We need to act as normal as we can. So it’s suspicious if Quinn is spending the night or Ethan isn’t home with Emily at night."

  "She’s right," I say, looking at her. "During the day, people can come and go. But the night has to be normal."

  "I’m not leaving her all night alone," Beau says, shaking his head. "No fucking way. No offense, Mayson, but..."

  "I would do the same," I agree with him.

  "Um, I think I can stick up for myself," Chelsea says. "As long as I have my gun, I’ll be okay."

  "You can’t be serious," Quinn says, looking around. "This man is unhinged. He almost killed his own son. It is going to take nothing for him to off Chelsea."

  "I would never let anything hurt her," I say, looking straight at her.

  "And how do you think you will protect her?" Quinn says, almost shouting.

  "Son," Casey says to him, and he just shakes his head.

  "No, Dad," he says. "Answer me?" His eyes come to me. "How are you going to protect her? You can’t even stand."

  "We will have eyes on the house all day and night long. We just won’t have someone in here."

  "What’s the fastest we can get here?" Jacob looks over at Casey.

  "Seventeen seconds," he answers, and even my mouth hangs open. "We have someone in the barn at all times watching."

  "My horse is in there," Chelsea says, and Quinn smirks. "Where is Bella?"

  "She didn’t like the extra people in there," Quinn says, "and she got a little testy."

  "How so?" Chelsea asks, folding her arms over her chest.

  "She tried to kick Diego when he tried to give her water.” Quinn laughs.

  "Okay, is there anything else we need to talk about?" I ask. "The pain level is going higher and higher." Chelsea looks at the monitor. "I’m fine."

  "He needs rest," Chelsea says, looking at the guys. Casey and Quinn leave together and so do Beau and Jacob. Beau gives Chelsea a big hug and whispers something in her ear. She nods at him as he turns and nods his head my way.

  Ethan is the last one to leave the room. "I’ll get him something to drink," Chelsea says and turns to walk out of the room.

  We both wait until she is gone before we look at each other. "I’m leaving," I tell him, and he just looks at me. "The minute that I can."

  "You think I don’t know that?" he says, putting his hands over his chest.

  "I’m going to find him," I tell him as the rage fills my veins now. "I’m going to fucking find him, and when I do, I’m going to kill him." I smile now. "I’m going to catch him when he least expects it. Wound him and then." I smile so big it hurts my face. "I’m going to look him straight in the eyes when I put a bullet between those eyes. The last thing that motherfucker is going to see is me." I swallow. "Piece by fucking piece. I’m going to take from him."

  "I’ll be ready when you are," he says, and I just look at him. A lump in my throat stops me from snapping back at him. I shake my head, looking down at the bandages around my wrists.

  "No, you won’t," I say, my eyes staying down. "You aren’t getting close to this. Think about your family." I look straight at him.

  "I am." He looks me straight in the eye. "You're my brother. You would do the same for me without thinking twice."

  "Yeah, because I have nothing to lose," I tell him. "Nothing. You have a wife. You have children. Go home, Ethan," I tell him, and he just looks at me.

  "I’ll call you later," he says, not arguing with me, and I know it’s because he can feel that I’m exhausted.

  Mentally and physically exhausted, I close my eyes and lie back on the pillow. I hear her feet coming closer and closer to the room. I open my eyes while she walks in. "Do you want to have something to drink?" she asks me, and I look at her. I’ve watched her from afar for the past seven years. Since I first met her, she has never backed down from a challenge. I would watch her laugh with her cousins. Spar with Quinn. Bake with her grandmother and then bask in love from her grandfather. "How are you feeling?” she says, stopping beside my bed and holding out the glass of water for me.

  "Like I’ve been shot and stabbed," I tell her, and she looks down at my hands. "But I’ll survive."

  "I’m going to clean the dressing of your gunshot wound." She turns, grabbing the stainless steel bowl. She walks to the bathroom and fills it with water. She comes back, placing it on the bed beside me. I watch her hands as she lifts the white gauze and finally sees the bullet wound.

  "It looks pretty," I say, looking down as she washes the wound with the warm water.

  "It looks horrible," she says. "It’s turning purple all around." She takes her finger and traces the color. "If it starts spreading, it might be an infection."

  "I’m sure it’s fine," I say to her as she puts Vaseline on the wound and then places another bandage on it.

  "There," she says, going back into the bathroom and turning on the water again. I close my eyes, ignoring the stinging that is going right through me now.

  I feel the covers come off me and look down at my legs. Five big white bandages all down my legs. Three on one leg, two on the other. Both on the upper thigh. A mistake for him right there, you always break at least one foot, both if you really want to fuck them up. I’ll teach him that the next time I see him.

  "What are you thinking of right there?" Chelsea says, looking at me and the ECG machine. "Your heart rate just spiked there. Is it too much to see your wounds?" I see her hands shake a bit, but she covers it up fast.

  "No," I tell her. "To be honest, the stab wounds aren’t the worst I’ve been hurt." Her eyes fly up to see mine. The questions are written all over her face. "Is that why your heartbeat went up? Were you thinking about it?"

  "No, actually," I answer her and figure that there is nothing in this world that can happen between us. Nothing on this earth could ever make her look at me like I’m not from a monster. "I was thinking that my father was stupid for just stabbing me in the thighs." Her hand stops moving, she looks up at me again. "He should have broken my foot." She looks down at the wounds. "So I couldn’t walk."

  She doesn’t say anything to me; instead, she finishes cleaning me up. "All done," she says as she finishes my last wound. She walks over to the desk and brings me back two pills. "This should help with the pain."

  "I’m good," I tell her. "I don’t want to be loopy."

  "Your body needs to rest to heal,” she says, and I take the two pills and then take three sips of water. "I’ll be back," she says, leaving the room, and my eyes close the second she is out of sight, and the darkness takes over.

  "You can’t run from me for long." I hear my father's voice. "I found you once, I’ll find you again."

  My eyes open, and I gasp out, my chest rising and falling so fast I can’t catch my breath. My blurry eyes roam the dark room. My eyes go to the window, and I see two eyes looking back at me before the crashing of glass fills the room.

  Chapter 10

  Chelsea

  The sound of glass makes me jump out of bed. The only thing I grab is the gun on my bedside table as I run out of the room and toward the sound of groaning. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is beating so fast I can’t even breathe properly. As I run in the darkness, so many things rush at me.

  I run into the room, the darkness all around me as I step on the glass. The burning is going straight from my foot to my calf. I ignore the pain as I turn on the light, my gun still pointed. "Fuck," I hear hissed from the floor and look down to see Mayson lying on his stomach. One of the lamps from the side table on the floor is smashed, the glass of water smashed into little pieces.

  My eyes fly to the window, seeing it’s still close
d as I look back down at Mayson. Blood all around him, I rush to him, putting the gun down beside me as I turn him over to his back. "Mayson," I whisper, and his eyes open. The anguish and pain is written all over his face. "You’re bleeding," I tell him, looking down at the blood that seeped through the white shirt he is wearing. "I need to get you up," I say and turn around to pick him up by his shoulders. I slip my hands under his arms, and he fights with me.

  "I got it," he hisses out angrily. I look at him as he struggles to get up and into the bed. I walk over to him to help him get his legs into the bed, but his voice angrily stops me. "I said I got it." He doesn’t look at me as he gets back into bed.

  I look at him, my heart thumping so fast in my chest that the heat is creeping up the back of my neck. The sweat beads all over his forehead, making me know he’s taken more energy getting into bed than he cares to admit. His chest is rising and falling as my eyes go to the drop of blood leaking down his side and onto the white pad under him.

  "I have to get the bleeding to stop," I say, turning to walk away and wincing. I stop mid-step and look down to see blood coming out of the bottom of my foot. "Shit," I hiss out, looking over my shoulder to see his eyes looking straight at my foot.

  "Make sure there isn’t glass stuck in there." He motions with his chin toward my foot. I just turn my head back, making my way to the bathroom, putting the pressure on the heel of my foot.

  I walk over to the bathtub and sit on the edge. Turning on the water, I wait until it’s warm before I let it wash over my foot. The heat stings just a bit. Taking a second for myself, I close my eyes and let my heart calm down. So many fucking things were going through my head when I heard the glass crashing. I thought it was his father. I thought I would walk into the room and find him dead. "Are you okay in there?" I hear his voice and wipe away the lone tear rolling down my cheek.