I looked up sharply, staring at another man that turned in his seat to look at me. His eyes were bright blue and full of fire, his mouth set in a cold, hard line as he looked me over.
Axle gave Fighter a shot of something, his gaze shifting between Fighter, me, and the man in the front seat.
“And you are?” I asked, a hard edge to my voice. Because there was something about that man that I didn’t like, and I didn’t trust him one bit.
“Name’s Hardy, and I’m the president of the Devil’s Highwaymen, and you’ve caused me a fuckload of trouble, woman.”
~ 31 ~
Fighter
The air smelled of weed, whiskey, and something else that was familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on. I frowned and opened my eyes, letting them focus on my surroundings.
I was in a small room, black walls littered with posters of bikes and women, a dirty ceiling that had needed repainting twenty years ago, and a single light hanging down from the middle of the room. I was home.
I turned my head, realizing I was in my own bed and that I wasn’t alone. Next to me was Penny. Her face was relaxed, her features calm despite the bruises across her cheeks and one of her eyelids. Solomon had done a job on her beautiful face, but the bruises would easily fade; it was the damage he’d done inside her head that would take longer to heal. I reached out to stroke her face gently and she whimpered in her sleep.
My hand was bandaged, two fingers tightly wrapped together indicating that they were broken. I looked down at my body, wondering what else was broken as I shifted and slowly sat up so I could slide out of bed. I was bare chested, wearing only a pair of boxers as I made my way over to the bathroom so I could look in the mirror. Everything hurt as I walked—arms, legs, back, side, head, even my fucking feet hurt. I felt ninety years old and weak as fuck.
I staggered to the bathroom to take a piss which hurt more than I would have thought possible. Then I turned and leaned on the bathroom sink, leaning heavily on it before slowly lifting my head so I could see myself. My face was purple and black and swollen to fuck, but it was the two large gashes down my face that made me pause. I swallowed and reached up to touch my face as I stared at my brutalized reflection. I didn’t even recognize myself. I was more monster than man, and I swallowed and looked away, taking stock of my body. My chest and stomach were covered in cuts, with boot prints heavily imprinted upon my skin in bloody bruises. My legs were the same and I expected my back would be even worse. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn’t covered in some form of bruise.
I had beaten men like this. Hadn’t needed a group of people to help me either. But I wasn’t proud of it. In fact, it was the opposite. Right now I felt shame for all the times that I had beaten men to within an inch of their life like this.
“Why did you come back for me?” Penny’s voice cut through the blackness in the bathroom and I looked up, staring at her reflection behind me.
“I’m tired,” I grunted, and looked away from her, feeling ashamed at how weak I must have looked.
She took my hand and led me back to bed, and I winced as I sat down and pain shot up and down my legs. Penny helped me lie back down and I hated every goddamn second of it. I was the man. I was the strong one. I did the protecting. But right then, I couldn’t protect her or myself. I was weak, fucked up, and ugly as hell. I looked like Frankenstein’s monster, only at least he had the strength to use his rage. My rage was bubbling below the surface, but I barely had the energy to walk, never mind inflict vengeance on anyone.
Penny grabbed the covers and pulled them up to my chest.
“I’m fine, stop fussing,” I snapped.
She stared down at me and I closed my eyes, wondering what the fuck I was doing with that woman. What the fuck we were doing there, together. We had no fucking future. We were all wrong for each other.
“Don’t do that,” she said, her voice quiet but the meaning strong. “Don’t push me away now. Not after everything we’ve been through together.”
I opened my eyes and glared at her angrily, but I wasn’t angry at her, I was angry at myself. I reached out to stroke her cheek, my bruised fingers stroking down the bruises marring her perfect face.
“I should have been there for you,” I grunted out, seeing something light her eyes. “This is my fault.”
And it was. Her getting hurt was on me and the thought made me feel sick. The rage inside bubbled stronger, making my throat burn.
“You weretherefor me, Fighter. You came back for me.” She reached up and took my hand, bringing it to her mouth so she could kiss my palm. “No one’s ever come back for me. Not my mom, not Scratch. Only you.”
“But this, what he did to you,” I said. “That’s on me.”
She frowned. “It’s nothing compared to what they did to you.”
“It’s fucking everything, Penny,” I said bitterly, the words catching in my throat.
“Why?”
I scowled. “It just is.”
“But why?” she pressed.
“Because you’re mine, Penny, and no one touches what’s mine, and no one hurts what’s mine, that’s why.” As soon as the words left my mouth, she leaned over and pressed her lips to mine.
