He was on his knees in front of me with his arms wrapped around me in the next heartbeat and finally I let myself collapse, knowing nothing and no one else was going to be able to get to me unless it went through him first.
My forehead hit his throat and my arms shook as they wrapped around his neck. He was panting harsh breaths into the side of my neck and I could feel his lips against the angry, swollen skin at my throat. I tried to tell him that I was okay, that I would be all right, but nothing but a scratchy squeak came out. He shook against me and I felt his hands ball into fists at my back. His head lifted and looked over to where my father was still struggling in the hold of the other two young men that had unquestioningly saved my life.
“The sirens are getting closer. You got two minutes max if you want to get a shot in, kid.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but when I looked up at the man that quietly gave Wheeler the warning, I gasped and did a double take. He looked just like Wheeler, only older, with salt-and-pepper hair and darker skin that was sun-weathered and set with attractive lines around his eyes.
“Two minutes is plenty.” Wheeler’s lips hit mine even though they were cracked and marked with spots of drying blood. “Honey, I’m gonna let Zak hold on to you for a minute, okay?”
He was asking but I could see the way rage was making his eyes electric and his freckles pop on his cheeks. I knew he wouldn’t let me go if I asked him not to, but the wild inside of him was wound up and needed a place to go. The wolf that prowled around inside of him wanted to protect its mate and I needed to let it.
“He’s not worth it, Wheeler.” I let the older man help me to my feet and promptly fell into his arms as my legs gave out. The words were nothing more than a puff of air that sounded like sandpaper and smoke. My throat felt like it was on fire.
“No, but you are.” Wheeler’s words were barked out as he took striding, stalking steps toward where my father had gone still, watching his approach with trepidation clear on his face. Wheeler jerked his chin at the other men holding on to the man that brought me into this world and had done his best to take me out of it. “Let him go.”
They complied immediately and took a few steps to the side so that there was no way they would get caught in the torrent of pure, unadulterated fury that was pouring off Wheeler in waves.
A massive hand lifted a red shop rag that seemed to magically appear to the back of my head, and applied soft, steady pressure. “He got you good, didn’t he, sweetheart?” The stranger with Wheeler’s eyes gave me a little squeeze and I closed my eyes as I heard Wheeler tell my father this was the last time he was going to get anywhere near the woman in his life. Suddenly a warm wiggly body was in my arms and puppy kisses were licking across my face as the stranger who felt like I had known him forever cuddled both me and my dog. I needed the comfort as the sound of flesh hitting flesh suddenly filled the air around me.
I wanted to tell Wheeler that my dad hadn’t gotten me good enough because I was still here, still standing and willing to fight. He had never been good enough to take me all the way out. I always managed to fight my way back. The words rattled around my head but they couldn’t find their way out of my battered throat.
I heard a scream.
I heard bones crunch.
I heard my father beg for the mercy he had refused to show me, or my sister … or my mother.
I heard clapping and wolf whistles as the witnesses to this entire ordeal happily encouraged Wheeler to take my father apart piece by piece. Something he was accomplishing with ease if the horrific sounds that were hitting my ears were any indication.
“Boy is good with his hands. It’s good you gave this moment to him.” The older man gave me a squeeze and Happy barked up happily at him as he reached out to rub the puppy’s head between his ears. “It’s gonna eat at him that he wasn’t here when your old man blindsided you. Letting him do something, anything, to prove he can take care of you, he needs that. We like to think we’ll be able to take on anything, tackle anyone that threatens what we love. The truth is we can’t always be there, but we will always protect what we love.” He swore as blood started to seep through the towel he was holding in a crimson rush. “Your pops is gonna go away for a long time, sweetheart. This is the only shot Hudson is gonna get to show him why you don’t put your hands on women, why you don’t put your hands on anyone that doesn’t want them there. He had to take his shot.”
He was right. I didn’t think there was any way to end violence with more violence, didn’t believe blood for blood was going to make my dad any kinder or more tolerant. But Wheeler obviously had a point to make and he made it by breaking every single bone in my father’s hands. In those two minutes, the man that I never wanted to see again also earned himself a broken jaw, knocked-out teeth, twin black eyes, split and broken lips, a dislocated shoulder, a sprained ankle from where he fell when he tried to run away, and a plethora of other bruises and scrapes he collected while trying to get away from my furious and vengeful boyfriend.
The sirens were suddenly upon us and I was enveloped in a swarm of police and paramedic uniforms. Someone shouted and pulled Wheeler off my dad and I cried out when Happy was pulled from my arms as I was hustled toward the back of a waiting ambulance. The older man that called himself Zak took hold of the puppy and promised me that he would take of my little guy. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wheeler arguing with a police officer and I was all set to push away from the EMT that was messing with the gash on the back of my head and shining a light into my eyes. I wanted to keep Wheeler from getting arrested. Luckily, the three guys that had rushed to my rescue stepped in and explained the situation, so Wheeler avoided handcuffs.
It took a few minutes for him to get cleared and answer the police’s questions, but as soon as he was free, he jogged over to where they had loaded me into the ambulance. He climbed up into the back without waiting for an invitation and found one of my hands. His were torn, the knuckles raw and bleeding, but I wrapped my fingers around them anyway and held them to my cheek. I couldn’t talk—my voice was gone, my windpipe seriously bruised and swollen—but I think he understood I was saying thank you for standing up for me, for the physical fight I would never win. I could hold my own when it came to the battle for my soul and my heart, but I was always going to be outmatched when it came to swinging fists and powerful punches.