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His eyebrows flatten. I take a step back. His jaw ticks. I retreat more. True as it might seem, I lie through my teeth, rushing out my alibi, knowing that whatever is about to happen is literally about to happen within minutes. “I have done nothing wrong. Where else did you expect me to go after running from the brawl you guys strategized? To the saloon? Where Stoney or Foster might find me on a rampage?”
“If my men are here, that means they have a damn good reason.” That debilitating dread returns. I spin on my heels and dash away from him. Of course, the dart of his hand is faster than me, and his fingers grab my arm. I yank around and kick him in the balls, then try again.
Muttered curses are the last things I hear before pushing through the dangling blinds. I am immediately met with the horrific scene I had hoped against. Dad is facing away from me, and Vee is aiming a gun at his head. The blinds rustle again. I cast a fast leer over my shoulder. Coty is now similarly covered, gaiter folded and covering his head and face in a balaclava style.
Vee’s bright blue eyes dart between Coty and me for less than a second before returning to his target. The steadiness of his gun hand falters, and a slight tremble vibrates through the metal.
His chest rises and falls heavily under his thick jacket, and he sends me another flash of a glance, head shaking. “What are you doing here?” he asks with a dark calmness. When I refuse to answer, he bellows, “Get out!”
I flinch. What am I doing here!? I want to scream and shake sense into him! I shoot a very accusatory, silent look at Vee, crossing my arms, lying through my body language that I am brave and badass.
Dad definitely wants to know who is behind him, maybe even has an inkling, but he stays quiet. So do I. Because the quickest way for Dad to turn into a beast is knowing harm might befall his girls.
Coty steps past me, blocking my view. That or stepping into it in case Vee gets sloppy. But then he brushes up against my dad and speaks, deepening his voice to obscure it. “Thanks for raising such an amazing piece of artwork.” He then flashes a glance at Vee and points toward me. “Bet you are so fucking proud. Dancer extraordinaire. Incredibly damn extraordinary in many other ways, too,” he taunts, making the words drip with lasciviousness.
Dad tenses, hands fisting at his sides, body vibrating. Vee’s bright blue eyes widen above the covering of his black gaiter and flit from Dad to me and back again.
He… he had no idea this is my father. But he knows now. With that thought, my head slings around and gaze zooms throughout the open floor plan, searching for Brodi. Neither of them would know. How would they? I keep my personal information locked pretty tight. If it weren’t for the others growing up in the area, I would have found a way to keep that information from them, too, if possible.
It dawns on me that Coty is saying these things to Dad for a couple reasons, the main one for the purpose of delivering the information to Vee rather than calling out my presence directly. Reason two is much scarier; Coty believes my Dad deserves a bullet to the head. He whips in front of Dad, wedging between him and the gun, gloved hands launching up to grip his face. My hands dart to cover a whimper, eyes glistening with angry, terrified, tears.
A very familiar hiccupy cry wails out, jarring all attention in the room. Coty spins on the spot. Mom is scheduled to work tonight, which means she fucking left Reece here by herself. Vee releases the safety of his gun and adjusts his aim at Dad again. I reflexively step forward, but a voice from the shadows warns me against it. “Do. Not. Move,” Brodi commands, voice razor sharp.
The instruction was enough for both me and Coty to find his hiding spot under the bar top to the left of the dining room table. Completely black clad like the other two men, Brodi has Reece in his arms, and a gloved hand covering her mouth. The opposite hand is aiming a gun toward Dad. A backup.
Dad jerks, growling. Vee presses the barrel of his gun to his forehead.
Coty alternates glares between each person in the room, hands tugging on his gloves. Adjusting. Preparing. He instructs Vee to take a step back. My heart does several extra hard thuds. Coty circles around Dad, studying his prey. “According to a credible source, you like to use your size and strength against those weaker than you.”
My mouth pops open. So, that is what they do? Take down abusers. Kill them. Well then, they might as fucking well shoot Mom, too. Because she is worse than he is. Toward Reece and me at least.
I shake my head adamantly, eyebrows curved inward. Alternating the plea from man to man. Never, I try to tell him without words. Dad has never touched me, and I know he would never touch Reece.
Vee’s breaths start coming in short, choppy breaths, eyes turning manic. “I fucking saw it for myself, Bella.” Each word is labored. A fight. A plea.
Brodi speaks, voice raised. Reece cries harder, each wail mixing with a cough. “The baby is covered in bruises.”
There is no getting out of this. The odds are stacked against him. Especially since it is true. He is a drunk and an abuser. But I love him. A lot. And… and people can get better.
Eyes filling, my attention slinks sideways to the couch where the wooden beam I threw this direction less than forty-eight hours ago had slipped behind a pillow. I inch toward it.
Vee sees my small movement, and his grip on the gun steadies despite the tremor in his hand. I hold my hands up in a placating gesture, eyes flitting to every set in the room, then slowly bend down and slide out the wooden slat.
Coty stops circling Dad and steps toward me. I aggressively swing and point the nailed tip at him, threateningly. His chin tucks and body bends, narrowly escaping my hit. Before he can stop me, I turn abruptly toward Dad, draw my arm back, and strike him against the side of the head with as much power as I can put into it.
I scarcely warned myself. The plan was a desperate, subconscious one. No time to think. To second guess. With HFL you have to be much quicker than that. So, instead, I took matters into my own hands. Showed where my loyalties lie. Both with my father, by merely knocking him out cold in order to save his life, and with Hell for Leather, proving I have their backs. If they would only give me a damn chance.
They were not going to allow Dad to walk out of here unscathed. I knew it with every fiber of my being.
No one moves; all eyes are on the crumpled body on the floor. I toss the slat back to the couch, storm toward a shell-shocked Brodi, steal Reece with only a little bit of a fight, and use my baby sister as a body shield to get out of there.
Right before I step out, her in my arms, I give them one more message now that I don’t have to worry about Dad hearing. “You have always had an ally in me. It would do you well to think on that before you make a big mistake here tonight. Load him up with enough xannies to steal his memory. If you harass me or my sister, harm my dad, or add any of us to your hitlist, I will fucking find a way to retaliate.”
I turn my back on them, knowing it could earn me a bullet. But somehow, I make it to the street. Alive.
Ten minutes later, Reece and I are behind Tit for Tat Saloon, sitting in the trunk of my wagon, her crying because she is terrified, and me crying because what the hell am I going to do with an eleven-month-old?
