Redemption (The Protectors 8)

Phoenix instantly dropped his hands and stepped back from me and I saw the same look he’d given me outside…the one that had set off warning bells in my head.

He hadn’t looked at me like he wanted to fuck me…I would have preferred that look compared to the one I’d seen then and was again seeing now.

It was the same look he’d given T after he’d thrown him to the ground.

Cold, deadly anger.

I automatically stepped back. “Sorry,” I murmured as I took in his tense frame. He shuttered the menacing look quickly and nodded at the coffee machine.

“You forgot to put water in it.”

“What?” I asked stupidly, not really hearing his words since I was still caught up in trying to figure out why he’d looked at me twice now like he was regretting not letting T finish what he’d started. Had I done something to piss him off? Maybe I’d embarrassed him with my comment about everyone needing a helping hand? I mean, yeah, the guy didn’t look homeless, but I knew looks were deceiving. And I certainly hadn’t meant to offend him, but wasn’t the hot meal the soup kitchen offered the reason he’d been in that alley?

Phoenix picked up the carafe full of water and poured it into the machine’s water reservoir. “You didn’t put any water in it.” He flipped the switch and I listened as the coffee machine began pulling the water into the tank to heat it.

“Um, sorry,” I murmured. I felt foolish for looking so scatterbrained to him. I had a lot of limitations when it came to my intelligence, but I was usually pretty good at following through on tasks, especially if they were part of a routine. But between T’s demand in the alley and Phoenix’s interruption, I was still struggling to process everything. Especially since I knew T would be back. Hell, I would likely find him waiting for me tonight when I left for work.

“Um, can I make you that sandwich?” I asked as I moved to the refrigerator to grab the supplies I’d need. The soup shelter wasn’t blessed with a lot of donations, so the appliances were older and didn’t have the capacity to feed as many people as Father O would have liked, but I’d never seen him turn someone away. I’d add some extra money to the locked donation box that sat at the end of the serving line to cover the cost of the extra food for Phoenix.

I felt rather than saw Phoenix behind me, but he didn’t linger and by the time I had the meat, mayo and lettuce in my hands, he was back in the chair. I didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t answered me, nor had he taken his eyes off me. The sensation of being watched made me uncomfortable, especially since my goal in life was to be invisible, but I forced myself to focus on fixing the food. “I’m sorry, all we have is leftover turkey,” I murmured as I worked.

“That’s fine.”

I worked quickly, but when I reached for the plate with the sandwich on it to carry it over to where Phoenix was sitting, I heard him say, “Would you mind cutting it?”

I stilled at that and shot him a glance. It was a somewhat odd request, but who was I to judge?

I returned the plate to the counter and then took a deep breath as I reached for one of the butcher knives in the small block near the sink, since it would have looked strange to bypass them and search out one of the blunt dinner knives that were kept along with all the other silverware in a basket at the beginning of the serving line.

It should have been the easiest thing in the world to grab the knife and cut through the sandwich. It would literally take the average person a few seconds.

Except I wasn’t average.

Oh God, stop! Please, I swear, I’m telling you the truth!

I flinched at the sound of the man’s voice in my head…as loud now as it had been that night. And the young man’s tortured sobs as he’d tried to be brave…

“You okay?”

I jerked at the sensation of Phoenix’s hand on my forearm. When had he gotten up and moved to my side? I glanced down to see the fingers of my right hand biting into the edge of the plate so hard that my knuckles had gone bloodless. The knife was sitting next to the plate. The sandwich hadn’t been cut.

I let out a choked laugh as I said, “Yeah, sorry, not sure what’s wrong with me today.”

I did know what was wrong, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell him. I mean, what was I supposed to say?

Um yeah, I watched a sick fuck carve up an innocent kid like he was nothing more than a Christmas ham and I stood by and did nothing. And now every time I pick up anything sharper than a butter knife, I’m right back in that house listening to a father beg for his son’s life and wishing I had even half his kid’s courage so I could do something, anything to stop it all.