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His lips curl as he stares at the man on the ground, giving him one last kick to the head. Arrow doesn’t utter a word when he leans down, picking the man up off the ground. Even though he’s only seventeen, his strength knows no bounds.
I watch in fascination as he begins walking through the middle of town at ten p.m. with a man barely clinging to life on his back. He doesn’t speak, too lost in the thoughts most likely consuming him.
But I follow.
I’ll always protect him. No matter what.
"No." That is all he says when he punches the man again, knocking his head to the side from the force.
"Okay. Care to explain then who this man is?" Clearly, I won’t make any headway down this route. Time to start asking the important questions that will pique his interest.
I hum, eyeing the dirty stranger and taking in his features. He doesn't seem familiar. With simple, worn jeans and a stained white T-shirt, he's a simpleton. Not of our status. Which begs the question as to why he’s tied up on our property with a metaphorical sign attached to his forehead saying dead man sitting.
As a general rule of thumb, we do no harm to the general public. A rule created by the first generations of crime families many moons ago. Technically, we’re supposed to run under the radar and keep a low profile, never letting the authorities get to us.
Here in Briar Cove, though? We run these streets. The police are in our pockets, paid to turn the other cheek when bodies show up riddled with bullet holes and missing parts. The one good thing my father did for his family before falling into the darkness of grief and paranoia.
"He was in her room." Arrow's jaw clenches as he paces in front of the man, half-naked with his shirt thrown off and his jeans unbuttoned. Thankfully, he’s kept his shoes on this time as he wades through the trimmed grass of the enclosure.
Max and Nova were handed to Arrow for his birthday as cubs. And he’s raised them ever since. Day after day, he made sure they were taken care of and fed. He even designed their enclosure. Right now, they rest beside each other, eyeing Arrow with interest. They feed off his agitation but make no move to hunt him down. To them, he's their companion. The one who feeds them and loves them.
My teeth sit on edge when he continues his pacing and pulling at his hair, muttering to himself. Whatever this man did, he deserves this.
“He was in whose room?” I ask, rocking on my feet with a pit opening in my stomach. “Arrow!” I shout, making him stop dead beside the unconscious man. His bare back heaves with every breath he takes. “Answer me. Fight through the darkness. Whose room was he in?” I bark out, making him tense at my tone. Good. It’s the only way I can pull him out of the abyss.
"He was in Journey's goddamn room! Of course, I have a reason to bring him here! He was… He was... Fuck!" Arrow’s booming voice echoes through the land, but only one word reverberates through my mind. Journey. Her room.
Red blurs my vision. My heart rate spikes. I swear my blood pressure shoots so high a headache forms in my skull, pounding to the beat of his yells. Journey’s room. My fucking future wife’s room! He was there in her room? Where were my men? Watching her on the fringes?
“Fuck!” I roar, slamming my fist into the thick metal of the enclosure.
“Now you see. Now you fucking see why I brought him here! He deserves to lose his fucking balls!” Arrow shouts, punching the man in the nuts.
The pathetic bastard’s eyes pop open just in time to realize he’s trapped. He yanks at the restraints, eyes darting around, looking for an escape. Arrow bends down, picking up the shiny knife he once held and must have thrown.
“No! No! Fuck!” The man cries out when Arrow slices the sharp end of the knife through the man's right hand. His cries echo, drowning out Arrow’s manic growls.
And that's when he absolutely loses his shit. I knew he would when he requested orange juice and pickles. His official celebratory treat after a successful mission. Sometimes, I wonder if the bitter taste helps his humanity return. Or what little humanity he has.
Was he born with morals and humanity? Debatable. Did my father help to mold him into this? Absolutely.
The once unconscious man is now fully awake and screaming as his fingers lie on the grass. Wonderful. We’ll have to clean that up later. Or not. The lions lick their lips, inching closer to the mayhem, eager to pick the man apart with their sharpened teeth. He sees them, of course, screaming more as blood spurts all over Arrow, soaking him in his favorite shade of red.
"Why!" Arrow shouts. "Tell me why you thought you could touch her or be there in her presence! You unworthy fucking worm!” Arrow heaves, shoving the knife through the man’s other hand, taking all his fingers off with one blow.
The man cries out again, tears leaking down his face. Snot blows from his nose when he slumps in the chair, his adrenaline taking away the pain of his torture.
"I… I… I wasn't going to do anything!" the man shouts in defense.
"And standing over her about to touch her was your idea of not doing anything?" Arrow grunts, slamming the pointed end of the knife straight into the man's chest. "You'll never harm another person again, you piece of shit.”
A darkness clouds my vision, much like seeing red. My wife! My goddamn woman. If the man was still breathing after that last blow, I’d fucking pull his heart out with my fist. No one touches what is ours, especially this low-life piece of shit sneaking into her room hoping to cop a feel. The heat of my anger creeps up the back of my neck. Standing over her? About to fucking touch her? My fingers flex, eager to punch the motherfucker’s face in myself. But, I collect myself and let the man at the center of the cage carry out the man’s sentence.
“End his fucking life,” I growl, clinging to the fencing like my life depends on it. If I don’t, I’ll march in there with two hungry lions and a serial killer without a second thought.
I squeeze my eyes shut, counting backward from ten. Something Shepp taught me long ago to calm my nerves. I seek him out when he squeezes my shoulder, bringing me back from the brink. We all have our faults. And my darkness is mine. Much like Arrow’s. We’re one in the same. Yet, so different.
‘Fuck that guy,’ Shepp signs with rigid movements, his fingers almost looking robotic with every move, displaying his anger. His nostrils flare when Arrow lets out an animalistic roar, standing above his victim. ‘He touched her.’
