Broken but Breathing (Jinx Tattoos 2)

Past

A loud crash yanked him from his sleep. Sitting up, he reached for the bat that rested in the corner beside the nightstand.

“X?” his wife whimpered. The moonlight flooding through the window highlighted her wide brown eyes full of fear, and her trembling dark pink lips. He cupped her oval-shaped face in his hand and ran a thumb over her high cheekbones.

When he placed a hand to her lips, he nodded. “Stay here, and lock the door behind me until I tell you otherwise, J,” he whispered, slipping from the bed in his boxers and a T-shirt. Their four-year-old baby girl, Jocelyn, was in the bedroom across from him. He strained to hear more as he slipped from the room and walked down to his daughter. Stepping inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. His heavy sleeper hadn’t budged. He saw no signs of tampering with the window above her bed.

The crunch of glass turned his blood cold. He lifted the bat, ready to swing if necessary. He moved to the hall and found the living room window in ruins. A brick wrapped in loose-leaf paper rested on the thick beige carpet. He glanced out of the gaping hole and spotted three hooded men all in white. This can’t be happening. A cross blazed on the front of his lawn—Klu Klux Clan.

“Son of a bitch,” he barked.

“We told you to get your nigga and half breed out of our town. Now we’re going to make sure you get the message,” one of them snarled.

He wanted to step aside and show them he wasn’t afraid, but that would leave his girls unprotected. His hands clenched around the smooth aluminum, and he gritted his teeth.

“You got nothing to say, boy?” one of them drawled.

When his father died and passed on the family store to him in Dawson Springs, he’d seen it as a chance for a new start. They’d been barely scraping by back home in Northern Kentucky, so he’d quickly packed up his small family and moved them deeper into the state. The resistance they received had been something he expected to blow over. Small towns rarely liked change, and he knew some of the older people might be prejudiced against Janelle. Still, they’d made a pact to stick it out, and see if they could make things work before they looked into selling the store. We should’ve left this shit hole in the rearview mirror.

“Well if he doesn’t want to come out, we’ll just give him a little motivation.”

Xavier watched, stunned, as they set the bushes in front of the house on fire. Making a decision, he pivoted and ran for the bedroom.

“J, get Joce, and get the hell out of here.”

He could hear the crunch of glass, and the sound of boots behind him. Turning, he swung. Bat met flesh with a loud thud. The impact made its way up the bat into his arms. The man cried out. The door opened behind him, and he blocked the path as his wife ran from the room to their daughter’s.

“Get that bitch,” a cruel voice cried.

The man in front of him tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. They grappled, and he used his legs to kick out at the bastard. His wife screamed, and he saw red. He rolled over, beating the man beneath him into submission. Pushing to his feet, he ran toward the screams. The sight of Jade on her knees in front of a robed man, and a sobbing Joce in another’s arms stole his ability to reason. He fisted the handle of the bat and charged toward the group of men. The crunch of bone and cries of pain spurred him on until he was overpowered. On the ground, he balled up to avoid the blows rained down on his body. Coughing blood—with his left eye swollen shut, and his breathing labored—he was forced onto his knees. A hand yanked his head into position.

“This is going to be the last thing you see before you die, boy,” one of them snarled.

He watched as they wrapped a noose around Jade’s neck and the truck drove off. Screams erupted from his throat; a loud bang echoed in his ears. Pressure exploded in his brain, and the world went dark.

§

Present

The fuckers burned down his home, killed his wife, and nearly ended him. The bullet had entered the back of his head, and exited the front, missing the main areas and vessels. He’d been fucked up for months, but the hate that had planted roots in his heart kept him moving forward. The sheriff swore up and down they’d done everything possible to find out who had committed the hate crimes, but everything was destroyed in the fire. Not that he believed the prick.

He left the state with a chip on his shoulder, anger, and insurance money from the house. He hit the road with nothing more than a bike and the thought of revenge to keep him moving. When he hooked up with Big Mike one night when he was jumped at a bar, and Xavier stepped in to help, it’d been the perfect fit. He became a hang around, and not long after, a prospect. Mike had promised him when the time was right, he would get his revenge.

He hadn’t forgotten, but he knew he only had one chance to get it right. The past couple of years had been about cementing his place among the club, protecting his new family, searching for answers, and controlling his anger. People thought losing your loved ones was the worst thing that could happen. The fact was not knowing what happened or where their bones lie was worse.

“You going to be offline for the day?” Mike asked, drawing him from his thoughts at the bar.

“Yeah, unless it’s an emergency.”

/>

“Do what you need to, brother. I’ll hold the boys down,” Mike said.

“Appreciate it.” Snake pushed away from the bar. He didn’t go to the grief group weekly anymore, but right now he needed it. He’d damn near ruined himself falling into a bottle and trying to fight the entire world until he got right. Mike helped with that. He owed his President loyalty because he saved his life in a million different ways.

The ride to the meeting helped clear his mind. Nothing gave him more peace than the wind, the road beneath his tires, and the feeling of freedom that came with riding. He pulled into the church parking lot and killed the engine. St Mary’s Church had been good to him. They opened their doors to the support group and made each one feel welcome regardless of if they shared their story or not. His relationship with God took a heavy beating. He wasn’t sure if the man upstairs really existed anymore.

If he did, he’d be none too happy with the things Snake did. Still the group kept him grounded. There was something about sharing your sorrow with those who understood the intense pain that made it easier to bear. Walking into the large building, made his way to the small room off of the church where they held the meetings. There were the usual suspects who called out a greeting.