Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“M-m-mommy!” came another high-pitched wail.
At least her son could form words now. “Hey, kid, who’s that mother—” Fuck. “Man?”
“He…he…he’s my d-d-daddy.” Another snot bubble expanded before popping like a damn overfilled balloon.
Jesus fucking Christ. How did that kid have any tears left? Or snot?
“Y-y-you hurt…him.”
No shit. “Sorry, kid, but some lessons need to be learned the hard way.” He tapped the mother’s cheek again. “C’mon, woman, wake up.” Why did women have to be so damn stubborn?
He really needed to get the fuck out of there.
Finally, her eyes fluttered open but remained unfocused. She was still out of it. Maybe even had a concussion.
He stood and offered his hand but every time she tried to grab it, she missed. So, he hauled her up and onto her feet, keeping a hold of her when she wobbled slightly. He propped her up against her Honda, making sure she didn’t slide right back down into a heap.
“You okay?” He raked his gaze over her from top to toe. Blood soaked her blouse and her shorts. A sandal was missing and her sunglasses were gone.
She was going to have a hell of a shiner, a fat lip, and a couple of black eyes. Maybe even a few scars where her skin had split open. He was damn sure her ribs were at least bruised, if not broken.
She’d be hurting for a while. Most likely regretting her life choices. Like spitting out a nut nugget with a man who had no problem putting his hands on women. Especially the mother of his child. In front of the fucking kid, too. Couldn’t be more of a piece of shit than that.
“Mommy!”
She winced when her boy squeezed in between them and hugged her thigh. Of course, still goddamn crying.
She placed a shaky hand on his head. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. But if that was what the kid needed to hear to shut up, then whatever, lie to him. “Who’s the piece of shit?”
Her already swelling eyes, one of them even had a blood spot developing, fell on the crumpled, unconscious asshole. “My ex.”
“Why the fuck are you meetin’ your asshole ex here with no one watchin’ your fuckin’ back?” Or packing heat.
“We meet here every Friday afternoon to exchange our son.”
“Does it always go this fuckin’ smoothly?”
She bared her teeth in a grimace. Yeah, he’d been there before. She had to be a fuckload of pain.
“I usually bring my mother. She’s been sick and I couldn’t find anyone else in time.”
“You let that abusive cocksucker take your kid?”
Her head jerked back, then she winced. “I don’t have a choice. It’s court-ordered.”
For fuck’s sake. What fucking kangaroo court allowed that? Asshole shouldn’t have visitations with a dead guppy that had been floating at the top of a fish bowl for the last thirty days, forget a living, breathing small human.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.
He glanced at his bloody knuckles. It was nothing. “Lot less than you.” He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and shoved it at her. “Here. Press this against…” Fuck. Her eye, her nose, her mouth; she was bleeding in too many damn places. She could choose where to use it.
She took it and when she pressed it against her nose, she hissed in pain.
“You need to get yourself checked out. Gonna be hurtin’ for a while. Now…it’s been fuckin’ fun but I gotta—”
That was when he heard it.
The goddamn sirens. The squealing tires.
Christ.
Then he saw it.
The flashing pig party lights.
The one party he tried to never attend.
Too fucking late.
The three little pigs barreled toward him like he was the big, bad wolf and was about to blow down their fucking house.
He ground out another curse as the three cruisers parked a half circle behind Honda and Asshole’s cage.
As if on cue, all three driver’s doors opened and pigs from the local PD crouched behind them, using them as shields. All with guns drawn.
Of fuckin’ course. Fuck the tasers and go right for the kill shot.
“Turn around and lace your fingers behind your head!” shouted one uniformed oinker.
He set his jaw and contemplated his choices.
He could resist them, but that would only mean more time behind bars. Hard to help run a goddamn MC when you’re stuck inside.
Add in the fact the blonde and her son had already dealt with enough trauma for the day; they really didn’t need to see him get his ass kicked and dragged away.
For fuck’s sake.
“Turn around and lace your fingers behind your head! Do it now!”
He was tempted to ask them, “Or what?” but he already knew. He’d been through this shit before. More times than he could count.
“I’m sorry.” The woman’s whisper shook as badly as her hands. She was probably going into shock. “Is there anything I can do?”
Not unless she wanted to be cuffed and stuffed, too. “Make sure you document what that motherfucker did and drag his ass back to court. Get a PFA for you and your kid.” Not that the Protection From Abuse order was worth the paper it was printed on, but at least this bullshit with her ex would be documented.