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“Don’t care how it gets done, but I want to see the fucker before he dies. I want him to know Josephine is mine and that he will never get her from me,” I state, meeting each of my brothers’ gazes and locking on Finnegan. “It’s my woman he was going to kill. It was one of ours he raped.”
Finnegan nods and looks at Jamie. “We’ll make it happen.”
“Good.”
* * *
Thirty minutes pass, and I find myself standing in the burn unit looking at the man on a gurney, his entire body burned almost past recognition. How he survived this long is beyond me, but he won’t breathe for much longer.
Finnegan gave me a syringe with a medicine that will burn through Porter’s veins, and he’ll die. The drug will also not be detected within his body if an autopsy is done on him. Which I highly doubt will be. They’ll most likely rule it as death due to his burns.
I step through the plastic and grab the IV hooked to him. Porter moans and opens his one eye to meet my gaze. I lean in and sneer, “Josephine is mine.” Injecting the liquid in the syringe into his arm, I move away and watch him as everything sinks in. He tries to say something but can’t. It’s not the way I wanted to watch him die, but I stand there, keeping my eyes on him as he takes his last breath. I can at least take satisfaction in knowing that he knew I won. That my woman was mine, and he wasn’t getting his hands on her.
Not now. Not ever.
Turning away from the bastard, I make my way out of the room, down the hall, and toward my woman. The two of us still have things to discuss and a life to start.
CHAPTER29
JOSEPHINE
“Scythe, come on,” I whine, wanting Scythe to come with me. “It’s only for the weekend.”
“It might be for the weekend, but you’re talking about me coming with you to a mud boggin’ event. One where you want to compete,” Scythe says snarkily. “There’s no way in hell you’re competing, Josephine.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to compete,” I protest, though I would love to be competing, but there’s no way I can. Not without chancing myself getting hurt. The risks that come with being out there are too great. Not with the news we received before leaving the hospital a week ago.
“Freckles, I know you. You’ll want to be out there on your dirt bike or four-wheeler. It’ll suck for you, and I don’t want you getting upset over it,” he explains, pulling me into his arms.
“I just want to watch the events from the sidelines.” I pout and bat my lashes.
“How about in a year from now?” he suggests, grinning.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Fine.”
“Good, and until then, I’ll make sure to keep your mind off the fact you’re not competing. We’ll even go to the lake for the weekend.”
“Really?” I ask, excitement bubbling inside me. I love it when we go to the lake, just the two of us.
“Yeah, but we’ll have some others with us,” he states. “I’m not about to take your safety for granted.”
I sigh and nod, understanding. He hasn’t told me everything, but he did explain threats, being made, and by who. I get the precaution and wouldn’t make a fuss about it, not after what went down with Porter.
Scythe explained to me after finding me in a hospital room what happened with Porter and that I didn’t need to worry about him anymore. This was good, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have nightmares. I do. They wake me in the middle of the night, fearing that I’m back in that fire. Thankfully Scythe is always there when I have them and calms me down. He holds me and tells me everything is okay. That I’m safe.
Sometimes he’ll just hold me after, other times he helps me in different ways. Really good ways that involve him being inside me.
When the doctor came in and told me before I left the hospital that I was pregnant, my pulse started racing, and I wanted to freak out, though I didn’t. This was because of the very man holding me. I thought he’d flip his shit, instead, he held me close and spoke sweet words to me.
“So going to the lake will suffice for going mud boggin’?” he questions, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Yes,” I murmur and press my forehead to his chest. “Some time at the lake would be relaxing.”
“That it would. But if something starts to bother you,” he says, grabbing my wrists and holding them up. “If these start to bother you, you need to tell me so I can take care of you. I don’t want them to get infected.”
I nod in agreement. “I’ll let you know. I promise.”
He’s been on me about making sure all of my burns, especially my hands, are treated around the clock. I sometimes think the burns bother him, then he reassures me that it’s only the fact it happened in the first place. If not for Porter getting his hands on me, it wouldn’t have happened at all.
