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“I’m working a job,” I counter. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Again, bullshit.”
Abyss steps up next to Malice and smirks.
“Might as well give up, Malice. The big man isn’t going to be honest with you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Hell, he can’t even be honest with himself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Grim, dude, you’ve somehow gone and fallen for a girl you don’t even know,” he explains, his movements relaxed. “Within seconds of meeting her, you somehow named yourself as her protector. Shit, you don’t even know what or who you’re protecting her from.”
My muscles tense, and anger surges to the surface. “I’m protecting her from whoever tried to fucking kill her!”
“And we don’t know who that is,” Malice inserts.
“Don’t we?” I look over my shoulder at Violet, who appears lost and alone. That only fuels my frustration. When I face Malice and Abyss again, they’re both smirking. “You saw that news conference. It was full of goddamn lies. If that doesn’t scream guilt, I don’t know what does.”
“And until she confirms our suspicions or Jez and Fort come up with actionable intel, we have to wait.”
I glare at my VP. “She could be dead before that happens!”
“Grim, you’ve gotta reign it in,” he instructs. “All you’re gonna do is add to the poor girl’s fear.”
And that’s the last thing I want to do.
I want to make Violet feel safe. I want to keep her with me and ensure she’s never hurt again. I want to make her smile, and I want to be the reason she’s happy.
I want, I want, I want…
What about what she wants?
Beyond pissed at myself, my brothers, and the entire fucking situation, I shove myself between the two men, my giant stature almost knocking them to their asses. They attempt to grab my arms and stop me, but they fail miserably.
Stalking through the clubhouse, I head to the gym. That’s the one place I don’t have to worry about anything other than working up a sweat.
After entering the gym, I immediately stride toward the punching bag and launch my fist into the hanging leather. As I take out my rage on the equipment, my mind reels with ideas, worries, and memories.
“I can’t, son.”
I stare at my mom incredulously. Returning to the house I grew up in was not what I wanted to do, but my father’s increasingly disturbing texts forced my hand. My mom is in trouble, and it’s up to me to get her out of it.
“He’s hurting you.” I point to the fading bruise on her wrist, and she pulls down her sleeve to cover the evidence. “Why won’t you let me help?”
“Because my place is here with my husband.” Mom steps forward and reaches up to cup my cheeks. “I love you, John, but you’re an adult now. Surely, you can understand that I’m only doing what God wants me to do.”
What God wants doesn’t mean shit to me. God ceased to be the good, benevolent being I was taught about when he let my friend get hurt. Fuck God.
“I can’t stay here to protect you.” I try to talk sense into her. “Dad’s unhinged, and you’re gonna wind up dead.”
“Stop it. Stop all this nonsense right now.” Mom moves to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair. “I’d like you to leave, John. If you can’t show your father the respect he deserves…”
“He doesn’t deserve respect any more than you deserve his fists on your body.”
Pain radiates through my hand, yanking me back to the present. Blood drips from my knuckles, and I realize I’ve punched the bag so hard, and for so long, that I’ve split the skin.
I’ve gotta stop thinking about my mom. She’s dead and gone, and I can’t do anything for her anymore. But I can do something for Violet.
I just have to figure out what that something is.
