Chapter 10 #2
“I’m not going to hurt you, Bronwyn. I’d never hurt you.” He speaks as though he’s making a vow.
“Then let me go,” I beg.
Another step back, then he’s out of my way. “If you’re going back, I’m coming with you. I’ll have words with your dad and set him straight.”
“No!” I cry out. He’ll make things one hundred times worse.
If Dad knew I’d run to the Kings, he would kill me for real.
“No, that’s the last thing you should do.
Just leave it alone, Short. I’m begging you.
” I can hardly get air down into my lungs because of the scenes I’m already imagining in my head.
Short calling Dad out for overreacting to a conversation that had never taken place, and Dad thinking I’d betrayed our family…
I’d never recover. To stop him, I have to come up with something to persuade him.
Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, while hoping I’m not divulging too much, I say, “If you upset Dad, he’ll not only take it out on me, but on Trip. ”
Short’s eyes narrow. “Who the fuck is Trip?”
“My eight-year-old brother. I can only look out for him when I’m there.”
Looking pensive, he shakes his head. “Never knew you had a brother.” He pinches his nose and huffs a short laugh. “Don’t really know fuck all about your family. You got a mom?” When I nod, he firms his jaw and asks, “And did she see what that bastard did to you tonight?”
I can’t deny it. She did bear witness, but I can’t give voice to the truth.
His eyes roll to the heavens, then back down. “I guess your dad lashes out at anyone, huh?” He shakes his head. “I already had no love for your dad. Now I fuckin’ hate him. And nothing you’re saying makes me think other than he deserves to meet my fists.”
If the circumstances were different, I’d be behind him all the way. But there’re not, and I can only play with the hand I’ve been dealt. I lay down one of those cards now.
Placing my hand gently on his arm, I try to calm the raging beast in front of me, who is almost visibly throbbing with the desire to give my dad a taste of his own medicine.
“He’s the doctor for your club,” I remind him.
“He digs out your bullets, stitches your knife wounds, sets broken limbs, no questions asked. He helps when going to the hospital would land you in jail.”
His jaw clenches, and it’s easy to imagine his teeth grinding together as the wheels turn in his head.
“He’s done this before. He’ll be drunk and deep into the bottle by the time I go back. Let me leave, Short, please? Before my absence makes things worse.”
His face goes through a myriad of expressions, none of them boding well for my dad. But finally, he comes to a decision. “Go, Bron. Go. Before I change my mind.”
I run to the door, but before I can escape through it, he’s there, concerned eyes blazing down into mine. “You sure you’re going to be alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say to placate him.
Fine, the overworked word that means anything but.
It’s another moment where I’m subjected to his eyes staring into me as if he’s trying to see into my head. Then, with a beleaguered sigh, he shakes his head and says gruffly, “I’ll walk you down to your car.”
I tell him there’s no need to bother, but I’d probably have more success if I told the waves in the sea not to roll in. I lead the way down the stairs, hearing his heavy feet clumping behind me.
I reach the clubroom and come to an abrupt halt. Short had shielded me from his brothers when, earlier, he’d whisked me up to his room. His stomping must have caught their attention. They’re all looking around, and all eyes are on me.
Saint starts to step forward, but Short moves his huge body between me and the VP and gives a quick shake of his head.
He then places his arm around my waist and leads me away.
As I exit the door, I notice the momentary silence that had fallen at my appearance is quickly shattered, men’s voices flooding out into the night.
I can’t make any actual words out, but I’d bet my last dollar they are talking about me.
Me, the girl who always keeps to the shadows and hates to call attention to herself.
My cheeks burn as I follow my escort to my car, which the prospect had taken upon himself to drive inside the gates.
In my distress, I’d left my keys inside.
After opening the door for me, Short, for some unknown reason, once I am seated, leans across me to click the seatbelt into place as if I were a child. Then, he holds on to the door and stares. “You sure you’re going to be alright? What if your dad is still angry?”
Mentally crossing my fingers, I reply as firmly as possible. “He’ll probably have passed out by now.” I don’t tell him, if there’s one good thing my dad does, he moderates his drinking. But inside, I wish those words were true. And that he hasn’t taken advantage of my absence.
Still, his eyes burn into me. “Give me your phone.” Not wanting to delay, I do as he says.
Taking it into his possession, he turns it to face me, so it unlocks.
Then he stabs at the keys before handing it back to me.
“I put my number in it. He lifts one finger to you again, you call me. You got it?”
Knowing I won’t, I hastily agree.
“Bron.” He remains standing beside the car.
“I’m fuckin’ worried about you, okay? Will you text me when you get home and let me know you’re safe?
That your dad’s out for the count and won’t hurt you again?
” When I hesitate, he raps his knuckles on the top of my car.
“That’s it, I’m going to follow you home—”
“I’ll text you,” I promise him fast. Anything to keep him away.
With a final look that shows his reluctance, Short steps back. I’m free to leave the compound.
After the prospect opens the gate, I drive away from the Kings of Anarchy and back to the place, which, while it doesn’t have cells or keys, might as well be my prison.