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Fucking hate it.
“My car is over there.” I gesture.
A pickup truck barrels down the street, and its squealing tires cancel out the baby’s cries.
Shit!
I toss the bags at my car. “Get her in the back seat. I’ll deal with him.”
I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.
But it’s part of the job.
I head toward the truck, fists clenched and ready.
The asshole jumps out of the truck. “Kimmie!” He charges for my vehicle. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Eyes locked on his victim, he barely notices me. “Hey, bitch!”
“Hey, fucker, ” I yell.
His dark eyes flash to mine. His shoulders lift.
He redirects his destination.
He charges me.
“Yeah, asshole, come on.” I grin. “You want her. You’re going to have to get through me.”
His arm hauls back. I smack the sloppy punch from my face and grab his shirt. My head snaps back from the quick jab I let him get away with to my left cheek.
Fuck, that’s going to leave a mark. Well, I guarantee that’s the last one this asshole is leaving today.
I slam my fist in his face. Not letting go of his shirt, I pull him back to me, clamp my hand around his throat, and squeeze. I do it until the only fight left in him is for air. “Go anywhere near her or that kid”—I grip tighter, leaning my face closer to his—“and I will kill you.” I glare into his eyes. “Do you hear me?”
“Fuck you,” he says, blood spurting from his lips.
“Wrong answer.” I slam my fist into his side, adding more fight for his breath. I don’t stop until I’m sure he’s close to giving up his last few breaths.
I shove his weak ass to the ground, watching him gasp for the breath I stole from him before I walk to the car and get in.
I check everyone is secure and take off.
We drive for a few minutes.
I regain control over the anger and the leftover fight gnawing at my body to go back and put the fucker down for good.
“I’m sorry.” I hear her whisper.
I grip the steering wheel. If I look at her, she’ll see my anger and disappointment. As much as I want to show it, she doesn’t need that. She’s hurt, physically and mentally. He did that to her. At least she called for help again, but next time…my jaw clenches. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
The ride to Willa is always the longest. I concentrate on my next day at work. Plan it in my head. Think of anything but the battered woman sitting in the car with me. I don’t want to think about what brought them to me, how long they endured it, or if they’ll return to it.
This girl. She did what I fear the most for them.
I shake my head.
“I-I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left him. When I found out, I, well, I wasn’t raised like that,” she whispers, breaking the quiet in the car. “I had to have her. I love her. I do.”
My eyes slide over to her. A tear falls from her eye.
